UORNINGS 
IN  njORENCE 

\\\ 

<"  ■'•'•'    .•>«'/•  A^  Mc  MT  i  Co.                      j 

IIUaKIN 

KNICKUllOCKIi 

Cusficf 

LI  B  R.ARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

Of    ILLINOIS 


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MORNINGS   IN   FLORENCE. 


BY 


JOHN    RUSKIN. 


NEW    YORK: 

HURST  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHEBS. 


70 


CONTENTS. 


'  I.  8AHTA  CBOCE ••••••••      T 

n.  The  Golden  Oats B5 

IIL  BbFOBK  THE  SOLDAN 00 

!^IV«  The  Yaultbd  Book ••••••••••••••••  118 
V.  The  Stbatt  Gate 146 

TL  TBE6iiEPii&tti>'»Xow&tt.ttit*0ttt««*«**«  IM 


PREFACE. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  real  duty  in* 
▼olved  in  my  Oxford  professorship  cannot 
be  completely  done  by  giving  lectures  in 
Oxford  only,  but  that  I  ought  also  to  give 
what  guidance  I  may  to  travelers  in  Italy. 

The  following  letters  are  written  as  I 
would  write  to  any  of  my  friends  who  asked 
me  what  they  ought  preferably  to  study  in 
limited  time ;  and  I  hope  they  may  be  found 
of  use  if  read  in  the  places  which  they  de- 
scribe, or  before  the  pictures  to  which  they 
refer.  But  in  the  outset  let  me  g^ve  my 
readers  one  piece  of  practical  advice.  If 
you  can  afford  it,  pay  your  custode  or  sacris- 
tan  well.  You  may  think  it  an  injustice 
to  the  next  comer;  but  your  paying  him  ill 
is  an  injustice  to  all  comers,  for  the  nec- 
essary result  of  your  doing  so  is  that  he 
will  lock  up  or  cover  whatever  he  can,  that 
he  may  get  his  penny  fee  for  showing  it; 


6  PREFACE. 

afid  that,  thus  exacting  a  small  tax  from 
everybody,  he  is  thankful  to  none,  and  gets 
into  a  sullen  passion  if  you  stay  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  minute  to  look  at  the  object 
after  it  is  imcovered.  And  you  will  not 
find  it  possible  to  examine  anything  prop- 
erly under  these  circumstances.  Pay  your 
sacristan  well,  and  make  friends  with  him: 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  an  Italian  is  really 
grateful  for  the  money,  and  more  than  grate- 
ful for  human  courtesy ;  and  will  give  you 
some  true  zeal  and  kindly  feeling  in  return 
for  a  franc  and  a  pleasant  look.  How  very 
horrid  of  him  to  be  grateful  for  money,  you 
think  I  Well,  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I 
know  fifty  people  who  will  write  me  letters 
full  of  tender  sentiment,  for  one  who  will 
give  me  tenpence ;  and  I  shall  be  very  much 
obliged  to  you  if  you  will  give  me  tenpence 
for  each  of  these  letters  of  mine,  though  I 
have  done  more  work  than  you  know  of,  ta 
make  them  goodten-peunyworths  to  you. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 


THE  FIRST  MOBNINa 

SAirrA  CBOCB. 

If  there  Is  one  artist,  more  than  another, 
whose  work  it  is  desirable  that  you  should 
examine  in  Florence,  supposing  that  you 
care  for  old  art  at  all,  it  is  Giotto.  You  can, 
indeed,  also  see  work  of  his  at  Assist ;  but 
it  is  not  likely  you  will  stop  there,  to  any 
purpose.  At  Padua  there  is  much;  but 
only  of  one  period.  At  Florence,  which  is 
his  birthplace,  you  can  see  pictures  by  him 
of  every  date  and  every  kind.  But  you 
had  surely  better  see,  first,  what  is  of  his 
best  time  and  of  the  best  kind.  He  pamted 
very  small  pictures  and  very  large— painted 
from  the  age  of  twelve  to  sixty— painted 
some  subjects  carelessly  which  he  hadlittto 


t  MOBNINQS  IN  FLORENCE. 

tnterest  in — some  carefully  with  all  hlv 
heart.  You  would  surely  like,  and  it  would 
certainly  be  wise,  to  see  him  first  in  his 
strong  and  earnest  work, — to  see  a  painting 
by  him,  if  possible,  of  large  size,  and 
wrought  with  his  full  strength,  and  of  a 
subject  pleasing  to  him.  And  if  it  were^ 
also,  a  subject  interesting  to  yourself, — ^bet- 
ter still. 

Now,  if  indeed  you  are  interested  in  old 
art,  you  cannot  but  know  the  power  of  tha 
thirteenth  century.  You  know  that  tha 
character  of  it  was  concentrated  in,  and  to 
the  full  expressed  by,  its  best  king,  St. 
Louis.  You  know  St.  Louis  was  a  Francis- 
can, and  that  the  Franciscans,  for  whom 
Giotto  was  continually  painting  under 
Dante's  advice,  were  prouder  of  him  than  of 
any  other  of  their  royal  brethren  or  sisters. 
If  Giotto  ever  would  imagine  anybody  with 
care  and  delight,  it  would  be  St.  Louis,  if  it 
chanced  that  anywhere  he  had  St.  Louis  to 
paint. 

Also,  you  know  that  he  was  appointed  to 
build  the  Campanile  of  the  Duomo,  becausa 
he  was  then  the  best  master  of  sculpture^ 
painting,  and  architecture  in  Florence,  and 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORKNtjJL  i 

supposed  to  be  without  superior  in  the 
world.*  And  that  this  commission  was 
given  him  late  in  life,  (of  course  he  could 
not  have  designed  the  Campanile  when  he 
was  a  boy ; )  so  therefore,  if  you  find  any  of 
his  figures  painted  under  pure  campanile 
architecture,  and  the  architecture  by  his 
hand,  you  know,  without  other  evidence, 
that  the  painting  must  be  of  his  strongest 
time 

So  if  one  wanted  to  find  anything  of  his 
to  beghi  with,  especially,  and  could  choose 
what  it  should  be,  one  would  say, "  A  fresco, 
life  size,  with  campanile  architecture  behind 
it,  painted  in  an  inii>ortant  place;  and  if 
one  might  choose  one^s  subject,  perhaps  the 
most  interesting  saint  of  all  saints — for  him 
to  do  for  us— would  be  St.  Louis." 

Wait  then  for  an  entirely  bright  mom* 
ing;  rise  with  the  sun,  and  go  to  Santa 
Croce,  with   a  good   opera-glass  in  your 

*  '•  Cum  In  nnivorso  orh«  non  reperiri  dicatur  quen- 
quam  qui  sufficientior  sit  in  his  et  aliia  muliis  artibus 
magistro  Giotto  Bondonis  de  Florentia,  pictore,  e( 
acciplendus  sit  in  pat  rid,  velut  mai^us  magister.**— 
(Decree  of  his  appoiutmeut,  quoted  by  LordlindsAj, 
foL  IL,  p.  247.^ 


10  MORNIUGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

pocket,  with  which  you  shall  for  once,  at 
any  rate,  see  an  opus;  and,  if  you  nave 
time,  several  opera  Walk  straight  to  the 
chapel  on  the  right  of  the  choir  ("k"  in 
your  Murray's  Guide).  When  you  first  get 
into  it,  you  will  see  nothing  but  a  modem 
window  of  glaring  glass,  with  a  red-hot  car- 
dinal in  one  pane — which  piece  of  modem 
manufacture  takes  away  at  least  seven- 
cightlis  of  the  light  (little  enough  before) 
by  which  you  might  have  seen  what  is 
worth  sight.  Wait  patiently  till  you  get 
used  to  the  gloom.  Then,  guarding  your 
eyes  from  the  accursed  modem  window  as 
best  you  may,  take  your  opera-glass  and  look 
to  the  right,  at  the  uppermost  of  the  two  fig- 
ures beside  it.  It  is  St.  Louis,  under  cam- 
panile architecture,  painted  by — Giotto  ?  op 
the  last  Florentine  painter  who  wanted  a 
job — over  Giotto?  That  is  the  first  ques- 
tion you  have  to  determine;  as  you  will 
have  henceforward,  in  every  case  in  which 
\ou  look  at  a  fresco. 

Sometimes  there  will  be  no  question  at  alL 
Hiese  two  gray  frescos  at  the  bottom  of  the 
walls  on  the  right  and  left,  for  instance,  have 
been  entirely  got  up  for  your  better  satisfao* 


ifORNiyOS  IN  FLOIIESCE,  1 1 

tion,  in  the  last  year  or  two — over  Giotto's 
half -effaced  lines.  But  that  St.  Louis  ?  Re- 
painted or  not,  it  is  a  lovely  thing, — there 
can  be  no  question  about  that;  and  we  must 
look  at  it,  after  some  preliminary  knowledge 
gained,  not  inattentively. 

Tour  Murray's  Guide  tells  you  that  thia 
chapel  of  the  Bardi  della  Libertd,  in  whicb 
you  stand,  is  covered  with  frescos  by  Giotto; 
that  they  were  whitewashed,  and  only  laid 
bare  in  1 853 ;  that  they  were  psdnted  between 
1296  and  1304;  that  they  represent  scenea 
in  the  life  of  St.  Francis ;  and  that  on  eacb 
side  of  the  window  are  paintings  of  St.  Louia 
of  Toulouse,  St  Louis,  king  of  France,  SL 
Elizabeth,  of  Hungary,  and  St  Clause,— "aQ 
much  restored  and  repainted."  Under  such 
recommendation,  the  frescos  are  not  likely 
to  be  much  sought  after;  and  accordingly, 
as  I  was  at  work  in  the  chapel  this  morning, 
Sunday,  6th  September,  1874,  two  nice-look- 
ing Englishmen,  under  guard  of  their  valet 
de  place,  passed  the  chapel  without  so  much 
as  looking  in. 

You  will  perhaps  stay  a  little  longer  in  it 
with  me,  good  reader,  and  find  out  gradually 
iHiere  you  are.    Namely,  in  the  most  inte9» 


12  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

esting  aod  perfect  little  Gothic  chapel  in  a]] 
Italy — so  far  as  I  know  or  can  hear.  There 
is  no  other  of  the  great  time  which  has  all 
its  frescos  in  their  place.  The  Arena,  though 
far  larger,  is  of  earlier  date— not  pure  Gothic, 
nor  showing  Giotto's  full  force.  The  lower 
chapel  at  Assisi  is  not  Gothic  at  all,  and  is 
still  only  of  Giotto's  middle  time.  You  have 
here,  developed  Gothic,  with  Giotto  in  his 
consummate  strength,  and  nothing  lost,  in 
form,  of  the  complete  design. 

By  restoration — judicious  restoration,  as 
Mr.  Murray  usually  calls  it — there  is  no  say- 
ing how  much  you  have  lost.  Putting  the 
question  of  restonition  out  of  your  mind, 
however,  for  a  while,  think  where  you  are^ 
and  what  you  have  got  to  look  at. 

You  are  in  the  chapel  next  the  high  altar 
ot  the  great  Franciscan  church  of  Flor- 
ence. A  few  hundred  yards  west  of  you, 
within  ten  minutes'  walk,  is  the  Baptistery 
of  Florence.  And  five  minutes'  walk  west 
of  that  is  the  great  Dominican  church  of 
Florence,  Santa  Maria  Novella. 

Get  this  little  bit  of  geography  and  archi- 
tectural fact  well  into  your  mind.  There  is 
the  little  octagon  Baptistery  in  the  middle} 


MOSNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  15 

bare,  ten  minutes*  walk  east  of  it,  the  Fran- 
ciscan church  of  the  Holy  Cross ;  there,  five 
minutes'  walk  west  of  it,  the  Dominican 
church  of  St.  Mary. 

Kow,  that  little  octagon  Baptistery  stood 
where  it  now  stands  (and  was  finished, 
though  the  roof  has  been  altered  since)  in  the 
eighth  century.  It  is  the  central  building  of 
Etrurian  Christianity,— of  European  Chris* 
tianity. 

From  the  day  it  was  finished,  Christianity 
went  on  doing  her  best,  in  Etruria  and  else- 
where,  for  four  hundred  years, — and  her  best 
seemed  to  have  come  to  very  little, — ^when 
there  rose  up  two  men  who  vowed  to  God  it 
should  come  to  more.  And  (hey  made  it 
come  to  more,  forthwith ;  of  which  the  im- 
mediate sign  in  Florence  was  that  she  re- 
solved to  have  a  fine  new  cross-shaped  cathe- 
dral instead  of  her  quaint  old  little  octagon 
one;  and  a  tower  beside  it  that  should  beat 
Babel : — which  two  buildings  you  have  also 
within  sight. 

But  your  business  is  not  at  present  with 
them,  but  with  these  two  earlier  churches 
of  Holy  Cross  and  St.  Mar>'.  The  two  men 
▼ho  were  the  effectual  builders  of  these  were 


14  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

the  two  great  religious  Powers  and  Reform* 
ers  of  the  thirteenth  century ; — St.  Francis, 
who  taught  Christian  men  how  they  should 
behave,  and  St.  Dominic,  who  taught  Chris- 
tian men  what  they  should  think.  In  brie^ 
one  the  Apostle  of  Works;  the  other  of 
Faith.  Each  sent  his  little  company  of  dis- 
ciples to  teach  and  to  preach  in  Florence : 
6t.  Francis  in  1212 ;  St.  Dommic  in  1220. 

The  little  companies  were  settled — one, 
ten  minutes'  walk  east  of  the  old  Baptistery ; 
the  other,  five  minutes'  walk  west  of  it.  And 
after  they  had  stayed  quietly  in  such  lodg- 
ings as  were  given  them,  preaching  and 
teaching  through  most  of  the  century,  and 
had  got  Florence,  as  it  were.  Heated  through, 
she  burst  out  into  Christian  poetry  and  archi- 
tecture, of  which  you  have  heard  much  talk : 
— ^burst  into  bloom  of  Amolfo,  Giotto,  Dante, 
Orcagna,  and  the  like  persons,  whose  works 
you  profess  to  have  come  to  Florence  that 
you  may  see  and  understand. 

Florence  then,  thus  heated  through,  first 
helped  her  teachers  to  build  finer  churches. 
The  Dominicans,  or  White  Friars,  the 
Teachers  of  Faith,  began  their  church  of  St. 
Ilary's  in  1279.    The  X*>anciscans,  or  Black 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  Id 

Friars,  the  teachers  of  Works,  laid  the  first 
Btone  of  this  church  of  the  Holy  Cross  in 
1294.  And  the  whole  city  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  its  new  cathedral  in  1298.  The 
Dominicans  designed  their  own  building; 
but  for  the  Franciscans  and  the  town  worked 
the  first  great  master  of  Gothic  art,  Amolfo ; 
with  Giotto  at  his  side,  and  Dante  looking 
on,  and  whispering  sometimes  a  word  to 
both. 

And  here  you  stand  beside  the  high  altar 
of  the  Franciscans'  church,  nnder  a  vault  of 
Amolfo*s  building,  with  at  least  some  of 
taiotto's  color  on  it  still  fresh ;  and  in  front 
of  you,  over  the  little  altar,  is  the  only 
reportedly  authentic  portrait  of  St  Francis, 
taken  from  life  by  Giotto's  master.  Yet  I 
can  hardly  bLame  my  two  English  friends 
for  never  looking  in.  Except  in  the  early 
morning  light,  not  one  touch  of  all  this  art 
can  be  seen.  And  in  any  light,  unless  yoa 
understand  the  relations  of  Giotto  to  SU 
Francis,  tfnd  of  St  Francis  to  humanity,  II 
will  be  of  little  interest 

Observe,  then,  the  special  character  of 
Giotto  among  the  great  painters  of  Italy  it 
bis  being  a  practical  person.  Whatever  othef 


16  MOBmNGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

men  dreamed  of,  he  did.  He  could  work  in 
mosaic ;  he  could  work  in  marble ;  he  could 
paint ;  and  he  could  build ;  and  all  thoroughly  i 
a  man  of  supreme  faculty,  supreme  common 
sense.  Accordingly,  he  ranges  himself  at 
once  among  the  disciples  of  the  Apostle  of 
Works,  and  spends  most  of  his  time  in  the 
same  apostleship. 

Kow  the  gospel  of  Works,  according  to 
St.  Francis,  lay  in  three  things.  You  must 
work  without  money,  and  be  poor.  You 
must  work  without  pleasure,  and  be  chaste. 
You  must  work  according  to  orders,  and  be 
obedient. 

Those  are  St.  Francis's  three  articles  of 
Italian  opera.  By  which  grew  the  many 
pretty  things  you  have  come  to  see  here. 

And  now  if  you  will  take  your  opera-glass 
And  look  up  to  the  roof  above  Amolfo's 
building,  you  will  see  it  is  a  pretty  Gothio 
cross  vault,  in  four  quarters,  each  with  a 
circular  medallion,  painted  by  Giotto.  That 
over  the  altar  has  the  picture  of  St.  Franc-U 
himself.  The  three  others,  of  his  Command- 
ing Angels.  In  front  of  him  over  the  en* 
trance  arch.  Poverty.  On  his  right  handp 
Obedience.    On  his  left,  Chastity. 


MORyiAGS  ly  FLORENCE.  If 

Poverty,  in  a  red  patched  dress,  with  gray 
wings,  and  a  square  nimbus  of  glory  abova 
lier  head,  is  flying  from  a  black  hound» 
whose  head  is  seen  at  the  comer  of  the 
medallion. 

Chastity,  veiled,  is  imprisoned  in  a  towec^ 
while  angels  watch  her. 

Obedience  bears  a  yoke  on  her  shoulderSi 
and  lays  her  hand  on  a  book. 

Now,  this  same  quatrefoil,  of  St.  Francia 
and  his  three  Commanding  Angels,  was  also 
painted,  but  much  more  elaborately,  by 
Giotto,  on  the  cross  vault  of  the  lower 
church  of  Assist,  and  it  is  a  question  ol 
interest  which  of  thQ  two  roofs  was  painted 
first. 

Your  Murray's  Guide  tells  you  the  f  resooa 
in  this  chapel  were  painted  between  1296 
and  1304.  But  as  they  represent,  among; 
other  personages,  St.  Louis  of  Toulouse» 
who  was  not  canonized  till  1317,  that  statOe 
ment  is  not  altogether  tenable.  Also,  as  the 
first  stone  of  the  church  was  only  laid  in  1294^ 
when  Giotto  was  a  youth  of  eighteen,  it  i3. 
little  likely  that  either  it  would  have  been, 
ready  to  be  painted,  or  he  ready  with  hin 
•ohemie  of  practical  (Uviiutyi  two  y  ^rs  Ute;^ 
2 


IS  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCK 

Farther,  Amolfo,  the  builder  of  the  mala 
body  of  the  church,  died  in  1310.  And  aa 
St.  Louis  of  Toulouse  was  not  a  saint  till 
seven  years  afterwards,  and  the  frescos  there- 
fore beside  the  window  not  painted  in  Amol- 
fo's  day,  it  becomes  another  question  whether 
Amolfo  left  the  chapels,  or  the  church  at  all, 
in  their  present  form. 

On  which  poi  it — n6w  that  I  have  shown 
you  where  Giotto's  St  Louis  is — I  will  ask 
you  to  think  awhile,  until  you  are  inter- 
csted :  and  then  I  will  try  to  satisfy  your 
curiosity.  Therefore,  please  leave  the  little 
chapel  for  the  moment,  and  walk  down  the 
pave,  till  you  come  to  two  sepulchral  slabs 
near  the  west  end,  and  then  look  about  you 
ftnd  see  what  sort  of  a  church  Santa  Croce  is. 

Without  looking  about  you  at  all,  you  may 
find,  in  your  Murray,  the  useful  information 
that  it  is  a  church  which  "  consists  of  a  very 
wide  nave  and  lateral  aisles,  separated  by 
seven  fine  pointed  arches."  And  as  you  wiU 
be — ^under  ordinary  conditions  of  tourist 
hurry — glad  to  learn  so  much,  toithatU  look- 
ing,  it  is  little  likely  to  occur  to  you  that 
this  nave  and  two  rich  aisles  required  also^ 
for  your  complete  present  comfort,  walls  at 


MORKINGS  ly  FLORENCE.  10 

both  ends,  and  a  roof  on  the  top.  It  is  just 
possible,  indeed,  you  may  have  been  struck, 
on  entering,  by  the  curious  disposition  of 
painted  glass  at  the  east  end ; — more  remote- 
ly possible  that,  in  returning  down  the  nave, 
you  may  this  moment  have  noticed  the  ex- 
tremely small  circular  window  at  the  west 
end ;  but  the  chances  are  a  thousand  to  one 
that,  after  being  pulled  from  tomb  to  tomb 
round  the  aisles  and  chapels,  you  should  take 
80  extraordinary  an  additional  amount  of 
pains  as  to  look  up  at  the  roof, — unless  yoQ 
do  it  now,  quietly.  It  will  have  had  its  effect 
upon  you,  even  if  you  don't,  without  your 
knowledge.  \'ou  vnW  return  home  with  a 
general  impression  that  Santa  Croce  is, 
somehow,  the  ugliest  Gothic  church  yoa 
ever  were  in«  Well,  that  is  really  so;  and 
now,  will  yoa  take  the  pains  to  see  why  ? 

There  are  two  features,  on  which,  more 
than  on  any  others,  the  grace  and  delight  of  a 
fine  Gothic  building  depends;  one  is  the 
springing  of  its  vaultings,  the  other  the  pro- 
portion and  fantasy  of  its  traceries.  ThU 
church  of  Santa  Croce  has  no  vaultings  at 
all,  but  the  roof  of  a  farm-house  bam.  And 
its  windows  are  all  of  the  same  pattern,— 


20  MOIiKIXGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

the  exceedingly  prosaic  one  of  two  pointed 
arches,  with  a  round  hole  above,  between 
them. 

And  to  make  the  simplicity  of  the  roof 
more  conspicuous,  the  aisles  are  successive 
sheds,  built  at  every  arch.  In  the  aisles  of 
the  Campo  Santo  of  Pisco,  the  unbroken  flat 
roof  leaves  the  eye  free  to  look  to  the  trac- 
eries ;  but  here,  a  succession  of  up-and-dowrt 
sloping  beam  and  lath  gives  the  impression: 
of  a  line  of  stabling  rather  than  a  church 
aisle.  And  lastly,  while,  in  fine  Gothic  build- 
ings, the  entire  perspective  concludes  itself 
gloriously  in  the  high  and  distant  apse,  here 
the  nave  is  cut  across  sharply  by  a  line  of 
ten  chapels,  the  apse  being  only  a  tall  recess 
in  the  midst  of  them,  so  that,  strictly  speak- 
ing, the  church  is  not  of  the  form  of  a  cross, 
but  of  a  letter  T. 

Can  this  clumsy  and  ungraceful  arrange- 
ment be  indeed  the  design  of  the  renowned 
Arnolf  o  ? 

Yes,  this  is  purest  Arnolfo-Gothic ;  not 
beautiful  by  any  means;  but  deserving, 
nevertheless,  our  thoughtfulest  examina- 
tion. We  will  trace  its  complete  character 
another  day;  just  now  we  are  only  con* 


3iOEJsrmGS  m  flobence.        21 

cemed  with  this  pre-Christian  form  ot  the 
letter  T,  insisted  upon  in  the  lines  of  chapels. 

Respecting  which  you  are  to  observe,  that 
the  first  Christian  churches  in  the  catacombs 
took  the  form  of  a  blunt  cross  naturally, 
a  square  chamber  having  a  vaulted  recess  on 
each  side ;  then  the  Byzantine  churches  were 
structurally  built  in  the  form  of  an  equal 
cross;  while  the  heraldic  and  other  orna- 
xnental  equal-armed  crosses  are  partly  sign* 
of  glory  and  victory,  partly  of  light,  and 
divine  spiritual  presence.^ 

But  the  Franciscans  and  Dominicans  saw 
in  the  cross  no  sign  of  triump|i,  but  of  trial.* 

^  See,  on  this  subject  generally,  Mr.  R.  St.  J.  Tyr- 
"whitts  "Art-Teaching  of  the  Primitive  Church." 
S.  P.  B.  K.,  1874. 

2  I  have  never  obtained  time  for  any  right  study  of 
early  Christian  church-discipline, — nor  am  I  sure  to 
how  many  other  causes  the  choice  of  the  form  of  the 
basilica  may  be  occasionally  attributed,  or  by  what 
other  communities  it  may  be  made.  Symbolism,  for 
instance,  has  most  power  with  the  Franciscans,  and 
convenience  f  >r  preaching  with  the  Dominicans;  but 
in  all  cases,  and  in  all  places,  the  transition  from  the 
close  tribune  to  the  brightly-lighted  apse,  indicates 
the  change  in  Christian  feeling  between  regarding  a 
church  as  a  place  for  public  judgment  or  teaching,  or 
«  place  for  private  prayer  and  congregational  praise. 


22        MORyiNGs  ly  Florence. 

tte  wounds  ot  their  :!\laster  were  to  oethei^ 
Inheritance.  So  their  first  aim  was  to  make 
what  image  to  the  cross  their  church  might 

The  following  passage  from  the  Dean  of  Westminster*  s 
perfect  history  of  his  Abbey  ought  to  be  read  also  in 
the  Florentine  church  : — **  The  nearest  approach  to 
Westminster  Abbey  in  this  aspect  is  the  church  of 
Santa  Croce  at  Florence.  There,  as  here,  the  present 
destination  of  the  building  was  no  part  of  the  origi* 
nal  design,  but  was  the  result  of  various  converging 
causes.  As  the  church  of  one  of  the  two  great  preach- 
ing orders,  it  had  a  nave  large  beyond  all  proportion 
to  its  choir.  That  order  being  the  Franciscan,  bound 
by  vows  of  poverty,  the  simplicity  of  the  worship  pre- 
served the  whole  space  clear  from  any  adventitious 
ornaments.  The  popularity  of  the  Franciscans,  espe> 
daily  in  a  convent  hallowed  by  a  visit  from  St.  Fran« 
cis  himself,  drew  to  it  not  only  the  chief  civic  festi- 
vals, but  also  the  numerous  families  who  gave  alms 
to  the  friars,  and  whose  connection  with  their  church 
was,  for  this  reason,  in  turn  encouraged  by  them.  In 
those  graves,  piled  with  standards  and  achievements 
of  the  noble  families  of  Florence,  were  successfully 
interred — not  because  of  their  eminence,  but  as  mem- 
bers  or  friends  of  those  families— some  of  the  most 
illustrious  personages  of  the  fifteenth  century.  Thus 
it  came  to  pass,  as  if  by  accident,  that  in  the  vault  of 
the  Buonarotti  was  laid  Michael  Angelo;  in  the  vault 
of  the  Yiviani  the  preceptor  of  one  of  their  house, 
Ckdileo.  From  those  two  burials  the  church  grad» 
Ally  became  the  recognized  snrine  of  Italian  genias." 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE  21 

present,  distinctly  that  of  the  actual  instru- 
ment of  death. 

And  they  did  this  most  effectually  by 
using  the  form  of  tlie  letter  T,  that  of  the 
Furca  or  Gibbet, — not  the  sign  of  peace. 

Also,  their  churches  were  meant  for  use; 
not  show,  nor  self-glorification,  nor  town- 
glorification.  They  wanted  places  for  preach- 
ing, prayer,  sacrifice,  burial;  and  had  no 
intention  of  showing  how  high  they  could 
build  towers,  or  how  widely  they  could  arch 
vaults.  Strong  walls,  and  the  roof  of  a 
bam, — these  your  Franciscan  asks  of  his 
Amolfo.  These  Amolfo  gives, — thoroughly 
and  wisely  built;  the  succession  of  gable 
roof  being  a  new  device  for  strength,  much 
praised  in  its  day. 

This  stem  humor  did  not  last  long.  Ar- 
nolfo  himself  had  other  notions ;  much  more 
Cimabue  and  Giotto;  most  of  all.  Nature 
and  Heaven.  Something  else  had  to  be 
taught  about  Christ  than  that  He  was 
wounded  to  death.  Nevertheless,  look  how 
grand  this  stem  form  would  be,  restored  to 
its  simplicity.  It  is  not  the  old  church 
which  is  in  itself  unimpressive.  It  is  the 
old  church  defaced  by  Yasari,  by  Michael 


^  M0BNING8  IN  FLORENCE, 

Angelo,  and  by  modem  Florence.  See  thosa 
huge  tombs  on  your  right  hand  and  left,  at 
the  sides  of  the  aisles,  with  their  alternate 
gable  and  round  tops,  and  their  paltriest  of 
all  possible  sculpture,  trying  to  be  grand 
by  bigness,  and  pathetic  by  expense.  Tear 
them  all  down  in  your  imagination  ;  fancy 
the  vast  hall  with  its  massive  pillars, — not 
painted  calomel-pill  color,  as  now,  but  of 
their  native  stone,  with  a  rough,  true  wood 
for  roof, — and  a  people  praying  beneath 
them,  strong  in  abiding,  and  pure  in  life,  as 
their  rocks  and  olive  forests.  That  was 
Amolfo's  Santa  Croce.  Nor  did  his  work 
remain  long  without  grace. 

That  very  line  of  chapels  in  which  we 
found  our  St.  Louis  shows  signs  of  change 
in  temper.  Thei/  have  no  pent-house  roofs, 
but  true  Gothic  vaults :  we  found  our  four- 
square type  of  Franciscan  Law  on  one  of 
them. 

It  is  probable,  then,  that  these  chapels 
may  be  later  than  the  rest — even  in  their 
stonework.  In  their  decoration,  they  are 
60,  assuredly ;  belonging  already  to  the  time 
when  the  story  of  St.  Francis  was  becom- 
ing a  passionate  tradition,  told  and  paints 
everywhere  with  delight. 


jionm^Gs  ly  florekcjs.        2» 

And  that  high  recess,  taking  the  place  of 
apse,  in  the  center, — see  how  noble  it  is  la 
the  colored  shade  surrounding  and  joining 
the  glow  of  its  windows,  though  their  form 
be  so  simple.  You  are  not  to  be  amused 
here  by  patterns  in  balance  stone,  as  a 
^French  or  English  architect  would  amuse 
you,  says  Amolfo.  "  You  are  to  read  and 
think,  under  these  severe  walls  of  mine; 
im  mortal  hands  will  wri  te  upon  them."  We 
will  go  back,  therefore,  into  this  line  of 
manuscript  chapels  presently ;  but  first,  look 
at  the  two  sepulchral  slabs  by  which  you  are 
standing.  That  farther  of  the  two  from  the 
west  end  is  one  Df  the  most  beautiful  pieces 
of  fourteenth  century  sculpture  in  this 
world;  and  it  contains  simple  elements  of 
excellence,  by  your  understanding  of  which 
you  may  test  your  power  of  understanding 
the  more  diflBcult  ones  you  will  have  to  desi 
with  presently. 

It  represents  an  old  man,  in  the  high 
deeply  folded  cap  worn  by  scholars  and 
gentlemen  in  Florence  from  1300 — 1 500,  lying 
dead,  with  a  book  in  his  breast,  over  which 
his  hands  are  folded.  At  his  feet  is  this 
inscription ;  ♦♦  Temporibus  hie  suis  phyloso^ 


S6  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

phye  atq.  medicine  culmen  fuit  Galileos  do 
Galileis  olim  Bonajatis  qui  etiam  summo  in 
magistratu  miro  quodam  modo  rempubli- 
cam  dilexit,  cujus  sancte  memorie  bene  acte 
Tite  pie  benedictus  filius  hunc  tumulum 
patri  sibi  suisq.  posteris  edidit." 

Mr.  Murray  tells  you  that  the  eflQgies  •*in 
low  relief"  (alas,  yes,  low  enough  now- 
worn  mostly  into  flat  stones,  with  a  trace 
only  of  the  deeper  lines  left,  but  originally 
in  very  bold  relief),  with  which  the  floor  of 
Santa  Croce  is  inlaid,  of  which  this  by 
which  you  stand  is  characteristic,  are  "  in- 
teresting from  the  costume,"  but  that,  "  ex- 
cept in  the  case  of  John  Ketterick,  Bishop 
of  St.  David's,  few  of  the  other  names  have 
any  interest  beyond  the  walls  of  Florence." 
As,  however,  you  are  at  present  within  the 
walls  of  Florence,  you  may  perhaps  conde- 
scend to  take  some  interest  in  this  ancestor 
or  relation  of  the  Galileo  whom  Florence 
indeed  left  to  be  externally  interesting,  and 
would  not  allow  to  enter  in  her  walls.^ 

I  am  not  sure  if  I  rightly  place  or  coa* 

1  **  Seven  years  a  prisoner  at  the  city  gate. 
Let  in  but  his  graTe-clothes." 

Rogers'  '' lUdi^^ 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  27 

Btnie  the  phrase  in  the  above  inscription, 
"  cujus  sancte  memorie  bene  acte ; "  but,  in 
main  purport,  the  legend  runs  thus :  "  This 
Galileo  of  the  Galilei  wiis,  in  his  times,  the 
bead  of  philosophy  and  medicine ;  who  also 
in  the  highest  magistracy  loved  the  repub- 
lic marvelously;  whose  son,  blessed  in 
inheritance  of  his  holy  memory  and  well- 
passed  and  pious  life,  appointed  this  tomb  for 
his  father,  for  himself,  and  for  his  posterity .** 

There  is  no  date ;  but  the  slab  immedi- 
ately behind  it,  nearer  the  western  door,  is 
of  the  same  style,  but  of  later  and  interior 
work,  and  bears  date — ^I  forget  now  of  what 
eariy  year  in  the  fifteenth  century. 

But  Florence  was  still  in  her  pride ;  and 
you  may  observe,  in  this  epitaph,  on  what 
it  was  based.  That  her  philosophy  was 
8tu4ied  together  vjith  useful  arU^  and  as  a 
part  of  them;  that  the  masters  in  these 
became  naturally  the  masters  in  publio 
affairs ;  that  in  such  magistracy  they  loved 
the  State,  and  neither  cringed  to  it  nor 
robbed  it;  that  the  sons  honored  their 
fathers,  and  received  their  fathers'  honor  as 
the  most  blessed  inheritance.  Remember 
the  phrase  '*  vite  pie  benedictus  filius,"  to  bs 


88  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCB. 

compaied  with  the  "nos  nequiores,"  of  the- 
declining  days  of  all  states, — chiefly  now  in 
Florence,  France  and  England. 

Thus  much  for  the  local  interest  of  name. 
Kext  for  the  universal  interest  of  the  art  of 
this  tomb. 

It  is  the  crowning  virtue  of  all  great  art 
that,  however  little  is  left  of  it  by  the  in- 
juries of  time,  that  little  will  be  lovely.  As 
long  as  you  can  see  anything,  you  can  see — 
almost  all ; — so  much  the  hand  of  the  master 
will  suggest  of  his  soul. 

And  here  you  are  well  quit,  for  once,  of 
restoration.  No  one  cares  for  this  sculpt- 
ure; and  if  Florence  would  only  thus  put 
all  her  old  sculpture  and  painting  under  her 
feet  and  simply  use  them  for  gravestones  and 
oilcloth,  she  would  be  more  merciful  to  them 
than  she  is  now.  Here,  at  least,  what  little 
is  left  is  true. 

And,  if  you  look  long,  you  will  find  it  is 
not  so  little.  'That  worn  face  is  still  a  per- 
fect portrait  of  the  old  man,  though  like  one 
struck  out  at  a  venture,  with  a  few  rough 
touches  of  a  master's  chisel.  And  that  fall- 
ing drapery  of  his  cap  is,  in  its  few  lines, 
faultless,  and  subtle  beyond  description. 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  23 

And  now,  here  is  a  simple  but  most  use- 
ful  test  of  your  capacity  for  understanding 
Florentine  sculpture  or  painting.  If  you 
<jan  see  that  the  lines  of  that  cap  are  both 
right  and  lovely ;  that  the  choice  of  the 
folds  is  exquisite  in  its  ornamental  relations 
of  line ;  and  that  the  softness  and  ease  of 
them  is  complete, — though  only  sketched 
with  a  few  dark  touches, — then  you  can  un- 
derstand Giotto's  drawing,  and  Botticelli's ; 
— Donatello's  carving,  and  Luca's.  But  if 
you  see  nothing  in  this  sculpture,  you  will 
see  nothing  in  theirs,  0/ theirs.  Where  they 
choose  to  imitate  flesh,  or  silk,  or  to  play  any 
vulgar  modern  trick  with  marble — (and  they 
often  do) — whatever,  in  a  word,  is  French, 
or  American,  or  Cockney,  in  their  work, 
you  can  see ;  but  what  is  Florentine,  and 
forever  great — unless  you  can  see  also  the 
beauty  of  this  old  man  in  his  citizen's  cap, 
— ^you  will  see  never. 

There  is  more  in  this  sculpture,  however, 
than  its  simple  portraiture  and  noble  drap- 
ery. The  old  man  lies  on  a  piece  of  em- 
broidered carpet;  and,  protected  by  the 
high  relief,  many  of  the  finer  lines  of  this 
are  almost  uninjured ;  in  particular,  its  ex- 


80  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

qiiisitely-wrought  fringe  and  tassels  Are 
nearly  perfect.  And  if  you  will  fccieei 
down  and  look  long  at  the  tassels  of  the 
cushion  under  the  head,  and  the  way  they 
fill  the  angles  of  the  stone,  you  will — or 
may — ^know,  from  this  example  alone,  what 
noble  decorative  sculpture  is,  and  was,  and 
must  be,  from  the  days  of  earliest  Greece  to 
those  of  latest  Italy. 

"Exquisitely  sculptur3d  fringe  I"  and 
you  have  just  been  abusing  sculptors  wha 
play  tricks  with  marble !  Yes,  and  you  can- 
not find  a  better  example,  in  all  the  mu- 
seums of  Europe,  of  the  work  of  a  man  who 
does  not  play  tricks  with  it — ^than  thia 
tomb.  Try  to  understand  the  difference: 
it  is  a  point  of  quite  cardinal  importance  to 
all  your  future  study  of  sculpture. 

I  told  you,  observe,  that  the  old  Galileo 
was  lying  on  a  piece  of  embroidered  carpet. 
I  don't  think,  if  I  had  not  told  you,  that  you 
would  have  found  it  out  for  yourself.  It  is 
not  so  like  a  carpet  as  all  that  comes  to. 

But  had  it  been  a  modern  trick-sculpture, 
the  moment  you  came  to  the  tomb  you 
would  have  said,  "  Dear  me !  how  wonder- 
fully that  carpet  is  done, — it  duesn't  look 


3I0RNINGS  JiV  FLOBENCE,  31 

like  stone  in  the  least— one  longs  to  take  it 
up  and  beat  it  to  get  the  dust  off." 

Now  whenever  you  feel  inclined  to  speak 
80  of  a  sculptured  drapery,  be  assured,  with- 
out more  ado,  the  sculpture  is  base,  and  bad. 
You  will  merely  waste  your  time  and  cor- 
rupt your  taste  by  looking  at  it.  Kothing 
is  so  easy  as  to  imitate  drapery  in  marble. 
Tou  may  cast  a  piece  any  Cay ;  and  carve  it 
with  such  subtlety  that  the  marble  shall  be 
an  absolute  image  of  the  folds.  But  that  is 
not  sculpture.  That  is  mechanical  manu- 
facture. 

No  great  sculptor,  from  the  beginning  of 
art  to  the  end  of  it,  has  ever  carved,  or  ever 
will,  a  deceptive  drapery.  He  has  neither 
time  nor  will  to  do  it.  His  mason's  laa  may 
do  that  if  he  likes.  A  man  who  can  carve 
a  limb  or  a  face  never  finishes  inferior  parts, 
but  either  with  a  hasty  and  scornful  chisel, 
or  with  such  grave  and  strict  selection  of 
their  lines  as  you  know  at  once  to  be  im- 
aginative, not  imitative. 

But  if,  as  in  this  case,  he  wants  to  oppose 
the  simplicity  of  his  central  subject  with  a 
rich  background, — a  labyrinth  of  ornamental 
lines  to  relieve  the  severity  of  expressire 


82i  MOMNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

ones, — ^he  will  carve  you  a  carpet,  or  a  tree^ 
or  a  rose  thicket,  with  their  fringes  and 
leaves  and  thorns,  elaborated  as  richly  is 
natural  ones ;  but  always  for  the  sake  >£  the 
ornamental  form,  never  of  the  imitation; 
yet,  seizing  the  natural  character  in  the  lines 
he  gives,  with  twenty  times  the  precision 
and  clearness  of  sight  that  the  mere  imitator 
has.  Examine  the  tassels  of  the  cushion, 
and  the  way  they  blend  with  the  fringe, 
thoroughly;  you  cannot  possibly  see  finer 
ornamental  sculpture.  Then,  look  at  the 
same  tassels  in  the  same  place  of  the  slab 
next  the  west  end  of  the  church,  and  you 
will  see  a  scholar's  rude  imitation  of  a  mas- 
\er's  hand,  though  in  a  fine  school.  (Notice, 
however,  the  folds  of  the  drapery  at  the  feet 
of  this  figure :  they  are  cut  so  as  to  show 
the  hem  of  the  robe  within  as  well  as  with- 
out, and  are  fine.)  Then,  as  you  go  back  to 
Giotto's  chapel,  keep  to  the  left,  and  just 
beyond  the  north  door  in  the  aisle  is  th^ 
much  celebrated  tomb  of  C.  Marsuppini,  by 
Desiderio  of  Settignano.  It  is  very  fine  of 
its  kind;  but  there  the  drapery  is  chiefly 
done  to  cheat  you>  and  chased  delicately  to 
ftliOW  how  finely  the  sculptor  could  chj^ 


MOENINGS  Iir  FLORENCE,  R3 

it.  It  is  wholly  vulgar  and  mean  in  cast  of 
fcid.  Uncter  your  feet,  as  you  look  at  it, 
you  will  tread  another  tomb  "of  the  fine  time, 
■which,  looking  last  at,  you  will  recognize 
the  difference  between  the  false  and  true 
art,  as  far  as  there  is  capacity  in  you  at 
present  to  do  so.  And  if  you  really  and 
honestly  like  the  low-lying  stones,  and  see 
more  beauty  in  them,  you  have  also  the 
power  of  enjoying  Giotto,  into  whose  chapel 
we  will  return  to-morrow; — not  to-day,  for 
the  light  must  have  left  it  by  this  time; 
and  now  that  you  have  been  looking  at 
these  sculptures  on  the  floor  you  had  better 
traverse  nave  and  aisle  across  and  across ; 
and  get  some  idea  of  that  sacred  field  of 
stone.  In  the  north  transept  you  will  find 
a  beautiful  knight,  the  finest  in  chiseling  of 
all  these  tombs,  except  one  by  the  same 
hand  in  the  south  aisle  just  where  it  enters 
the  south  transept.  Examine  the  lines  of  the 
Gothic  niches  traced  above  them ;  and  what 
is  left  of  arabesque  on  their  armor.  They 
are  far  more  beautiful  and  tender  in  chival- 
ric  conception  than  Donatello's  St.  George, 
which  is  merely  a  piece  of  vigorous  natural- 
ism founded  on  these  older  tombs.    If  you 


84  MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCK 

will  drive  in  the  evening  to  the  Chartreuse 
in  Val  d'Ema,  you  may  see  there  an  unin- 
jured example  of  this  slab-tomb  by  Dona* 
tello  himself:  very  beautiful;  but  not  so 
perfect  as  the  earlier  ones  on  which  it  is 
founded.  And  you  may  see  some  fading 
light  and  shade  of  monastic  life,  among 
which  if  you  stay  till  the  fireflies  come  out 
in  the  twilight,  and  thus  get  to  sleep  when 
you  come  home,  you  will  be  better  prepared 
for  to-morrow  morning's  walk — if  you  will 
take  another  with  me — ^than  if  you  go  to  a 
party,  to  talk  sentiment  about  Italy,  and 
hear  the  last  news  from  Loudou  and  New 
rock. 


MOEJ^INGS  IN  FLORENCE.  35 


THE  SECOND  MORNING. 

THE    GOLDEN    GATE. 

To-DAT,  as  early  as  you  please,  and  at  all 
events  before  doing  anything  else,  let  us  go 
to  Giotto's  own  parish-church,  Santa  Maria 
Novella.  If,  walking  from  the  Strozzl 
Palace,  you  look  on  your  right  for  the 
"  Way  of  the  Beautiful  Ladies,"  it  will  take 
you  quickly  there. 

Do  not  let  anything  in  the  way  of  acquaint- 
ance, sacristan,  or  chance  sight  stop  you  in 
doing  what  I  tell  you.  Walk  straight  up  to 
the  church,  into  the  apse  of  it ; — (you  may 
let  your  eyes  rest,  as  you  walk,  on  the  glow 
of  its  glass,  only  mind  the  step,  half  way ;) 
— ^and  lift  the  curtain ;  and  go  in  behind  the 
grand  marble  altar,  giving  anybody  who 
follows  you  anything  they  want,  to  hold 
their  tongues,  or  go  away. 

You  know,  most  probably,  already,  that 
the  frescos  on  each  side  of  you  are  Ghirlan* 


50  MOliJSlNGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

dajo's.  You  have  been  told  they  are  very 
fine,  and  if  you  know  anything  of  painting, 
you  know  the  portraits  in  them  are  so. 
Nevertheless,  somehow,  you  don't  really 
enjoy  these  frescos,  nor  come  often  here, 
do  you? 

The  reason  of  which  is,  that  if  you  are  a 
nice  person,  they  are  not  nice  enough  for 
you;  and  if  a  vulgar  person,  not  vulgar 
enough.  But  if  you  are  a  nice  person,  I 
want  you  to  look  carefully,  to-day,  at  the 
two  lowest,  next  the  windows,  for  a  few 
minutes,  that  you  may  better  feel  the  art 
you  are  really  to  study,  by  its  contrast  with 
these. 

On  your  left  hand  is  represented  the  birth 
of  the  Virgin.  On  your  right,  her  meeting 
"With  Elizabeth. 

You  can't  easily  see  better  pieces — ^no- 
where more  pompous  pieces) — of  flat  gold- 
smiths' work.  Ghirlandajo  was  to  the  end 
of  his  life  a  mere  goldsmith,  with  a  gift  of 
portraiture.  And  here  he  has  done  his 
best,  and  has  put  a  long  wall  in  wonderful 
perspective,  and  the  whole  city  of  Florence 
behind  Elizabeth's  house  in  the  hill  country; 
and  a  splendid  bas-relief,  in  the  style  of 


MOENINGS  IN  FLOBENCE.  37 

Luca  della  Robbia,  in  St.  Anne's  bedroom ; 
and  he  has  carved  all  the  pilasters,  and 
embroidered  all  the  dresses,  and  flourished 
and  trumpeted  into  every  corner ;  and  it  is 
all  done,  within  just  a  point,  as  well  as  it 
can  be  done ;  and  quite  as  well  as  Ghirlan- 
dajo  could  do  it.  But  the  point  in  which  it 
just  misses  being  as  well  as  it  can  be  done  is 
the  vital  point.  And  it  is  all  simply — good 
for  nothing. 

Extricate  yourself  from  the  goldsmith's 
inibbish  of  it,  and  look  full  at  the  Salutation. 
Ton  will  say,  perhaps,  at  first,  "What 
grand  and  graceful  figures ! "  Are  you 
sure  they  are  graceful?  Look  again,  and 
you  will  see  their  draperies  hang  from  them 
exactly  as  they  would  from  two  clothes- 
pegs.  Kow,  fine  drapery,  really  well  drawn, 
as  it  hangs  from  a  clothes-peg,  is  always 
rather  impressive,  especially  if  it  be  dis- 
posed in  large  breadths  and  deep  folds ;  bufc 
that  is  the  only  grace  of  their  figures. 

Secondly.  Look  at  the  Madonna,  care- 
fully. You  will  find  she  is  not  the  least 
meek — only  stupid, — as  all  the  other  women 
ID.  the  picture  are. 

«« St.  Elizabeth,  you  think,  is  nice  ?  "    Yes ; 


3»  MORNING!"'  IN  FLORENCE, 

^  and  she  says,  '  Whence  is  this  to  me,  that 
the  mother  of  my  Lord  should  come  to  me?* 
really  with  ti  great  deal  of  serious  feeling?'* 
Yes,  with  a  great  deal.  Well,  you  have 
looked  enough  at  those  two.  Now — just 
for  another  minute — look  at  the  birth  of  the 
Virgin.  "A  most  graceful  group,  (your 
Murray's  Guide  tells  you),  in  the  attendant 
servants."  Extremely  so.  Also,  the  one 
holding  the  child  is  rather  pretty.  Also, 
the  servant  pouring  out  the  water  does  it 
from  a  great  height,  without  splashing, 
most  cleverly.  Also,  the  lady  coming  to  ask 
for  St.  Anne,  and  see  the  baby,  walks 
majestically  and  is  very  finel}?-  dressed. 
And  as  for  that  bas-relief  in  the  style  of 
Luca  della  Robbia,  you  might  really  almost 
think  it  was  Luca !  The  very  best  plated 
goods,  Master  Ghirlandajo,  no  doubt — 
always  on  hand  at  your  shop. 

Well,  now  you  must  ask  for  the  sacristan, 
"Who  is  civil  and  nice  enough,  and  get  him 
to  let  you  into  the  green  cloister,  and  then 
go  into  the  less  cloister  opening  out  of  it  on 
the  right,  as  you  go  down  the  steps ;  and 
you  must  ask  for  the  tomb  of  the  Marcheza 
Stiozzi  Kidolfi  5  and  in  .the  recess  behind  the 


MOBXINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  33 

Marcheza's  tomb — ^very  close  to  the  ground, 
and  in  excellent  light,  if  the  day  is  fine— ' 
you  will  see  two  small  frescos,  only  about 
four  feet  wide  each,  in  odd-shaped  bits  of 
wall — quarters  of  circles ;  representing — < 
that  on  the  left,  the  Meeting  of  Joachim  and 
Auna  at  the  Golden  Gate ;  and  that  on  the 
right,  the  Birth  of  the  Virgin. 

Ko  flourish  of  trumpets  here,  at  any  rate, 
you  think !  Ko  gold  on  the  gate ;  and,  for 
the  birth  of  the  Virgin — is  this  all !  Good- 
ness ! — ^nothing  to  be  seen,  whatever,  of  bas- 
reliefs,  nor  fine  dresses,  nor  graceful  pour- 
ings out  of  water,  nor  processions  of  visit- 
ors? 

Ko.  There's  but  one  thing  you  can  see, 
liere,  which  you  didn't  in  Ghirlandajo's 
fresco,  unless  you  were  very  clever  and 
looked  hard  for  it — the  Baby!  And  you 
are  never  likely  to  see  a  more  true  piece  of 
Giotto's  work  in  this  world. 

A  round-faced,  small-eyed  little  thiag,  tied 
up  in  a  bundle ! 

Yes,  Giotto  was  of  opinion  she  must  have 
appeared  really  not  much  else  than  that. 
But  look  at  the  servant  who  has  just  finished 
dressing  her ; — awe-struck,  full  of  love  and 


40  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

wonder,  putting  her  hand  softly  on  the 
child's  head,  who  has  never  cried.  The 
nurse,  who  has  just  taken  her,  is — the 
nurse,  and  no  more;  tidy  in  the  extreme, 
and"  greatly  proud  and  pleased ;  but  would 
be  as  much  so  with  any  other  child. 

Ghirlandajo's  St.  Anne  (I  ought  to  have 
told  you  to  notice  that, — you  can  afterwards) 
is  sitting  strongly  up  in  bed,  watching,  if  not 
directing,  all  that  is  going  on.  Giotto's  lying 
down  on  the  pillow,  leans  her  face  on  her 
hand;  partly  exhausted,  partly  in  deep 
thought.  She  knows  that  all  will  be  well 
done  for  the  child,  either  by  the  servants, 
or  God ;  she  need  not  look  after  anything. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bed  is  the  midwife,  and 
a  servant  who  has  brought  drink  for  St. 
Anne.  The  servant  stops,  seeing  her  so 
quiet ;  asking  the  midwife,  Shall  I  give  it  her 
now  ?  The  midwife,  her  hands  lifted  under 
her  robe,  in  the  attitude  of  thanksgiving, 
(with  Giotto  distinguishable  always,  though 
one  doesn't  know  how,  from  that  of  prayer), 
answers,  with  her  look,  "  Let  be — she  does 
not  want  anything." 

At  the  door  a  single  acquaintance  is  com- 
ing in  to  see  the  child.    Of  ornament,  there  ia 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  41 

lllily  the  entirely  simple  outline  of  the  vase 
which  the  servant  carries  ;  of  color,  two  or 
three  masses  of  sober  red  and  pure  white, 
with  brown  and  gray. 

That  is  all.  And  if  you  can  be  pleased 
with  this,  you  can  see  Florence.  But  if  not, 
by  ail  means  amuse  yourself  there,  if  you 
find  It  amusing,  as  long  as  you  like;  you 
can  never  see  it. 

But  if  indeed  you  are  pleased,  ever  so 
little,  with  this  fresco,  think  what  that 
pleasure  means.  I  brought  you,  on  purpose, 
round,  through  the  richest  overture,  and 
farj-ago  of  tweedledum  and  tweedledee,  I 
could  find  in  Florence ;  and  here  is  a  tune  of 
tour  notes,  on  a  shepherd's  pipe,  played  by 
the  picture  of  nobody ;  and  yet  you  like  it  I 
You.  know  what  music  is,  then.  Here  is 
another  little  tune,  by  the  same  player,  and 
sweeter.    I  let  you  hear  the  simplest  first. 

The  fresco  on  the  left  hand,  with  the 
bright  blue  sky,  and  the  rosy  figures !  Why, 
anybody  might  like  that ! 

Yes ;  but,  alas,  all  the  blue  sky  is  repaint- 
ed. It  was  blue  always,  however,  and  bright 
too ;  and  I  dare  say,  when  the  fresco  waa 
first  done  anybody  did  like  it. 


42  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

You  know  the  story  of  Joachim  and  Annai 
I  hope  ?  Not  that  I  do,  myself,  quite  in  the 
ins  and  outs ;  and  if  you  don't  I'm  not  going 
to  keep  you  waiting  while  I  tell  it.  All 
you  need  know,  and  you  scarcely,  before 
this  fresco,  need  know  so  much,  is,  that  here 
are  an  old  tiusband  and  old  wife,  meeting 
again  by  surprise,  after  losing  each  other, 
and  being  each  in  great  fear ; — meeting  at 
the  place  where  they  were  told  by  God  each 
to  go,  without  knowing  what  was  to  happen 
there. 

"  So  they  rushed  into  one  another's  arms, 
and  kissed  each  other." 

Ko,  says  Giotto, — not  that. 

"They  advanced  to  meet,  in  a  manner 
conformable  to  the  strictest  laws  of  com- 
position ;  and  with  their  draperies  cast  into 
folds  which  no  one  until  Raphael  could 
have  arranged  better." 

No,  says  Giotto, — ^not  that. 

St.  Anne  has  moved  quickest ;  her  dres» 
just  falls  into  folds  sloping  backwards 
enough  to  tell  you  so  much.  She  has 
caught  St.  Joachim  by  his  mantle,  and 
draws  him  to  her,  softly,  by  that.  St. 
Joachim  lays  his  hand  under  her  arm,  se^ 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  43 

ing  she  is  like  to  faint,  and  holds  her  up. 
They  do  not  kiss  each  other — only  look  into 
each  other's  eyes.  And  God's  angel  lays 
his  hand  on  their  heads. 

Behind  them,  there  are  two  rough  fig- 
ures, busied  with  their  own  affairs, — two  of 
Joachim's  shepherds ;  one,  bare-headed,  the 
other  wearing  the  wide  Florentine  cap  with 
the  falling  point  behind,  which  is  exactly 
like  the  tube  of  a  larkspur  or  violet ;  both 
carrying  game,  and  talking  to  each  other 
about — Greasy  Joan  and  her  pot  or  the  like. 
Kot  at  all  the  sort  of  persons  whom  you 
would  have  thought  in  harmony  with  the 
scene; — by  the  laws  of  the  drama,  accord- 
ing to  Racine  or  Voltaire. 

Ko,  but  according  to  Shakespeare,  or 
<jiotto,  these  are  just  the  kind  of  persons 
likely  to  be  there  :  as  much  as  the  angel  is 
likely  to  be  there  also,  though  you  will  bo 
told  nowadays  that  Giotto  was  absurd  for 
putting  him  into  the  sky,  of  which  an  apoth- 
ecary can  always  produce  the  similar  blue, 
in  a  bottle.  And  now  that  you  have  had 
Shakespeare,  and  sundry  other  men  of  head 
and  heart,  following  the  track  of  this  shep- 
herd lad,  yaw  can  forgive  him  his  grotesques 


44  MORNINGS  IN  FLORJSNCSr. 

in  the  corneii  But  that  he  should  have  for- 
given them  to  himself,  after  the  training  he 
had,  this  is  the  wonder!  We  have  seen 
simple  pictures  enough  in  our  day  ;  and 
therefore  we  think  that  of  course  shepherd 
boys  will  sketch  shepherds;  what  wonder 
is  there  m  that  ? 

I  can  show  you  how  in  this  shepherd 
boy  it  was  very  wonderful  indeed,  if  you 
will  walk  for  five  minutes  back  into  the 
church  with  me,  and  up  into  the  chapel  At 
the  end  of  the  south  transept, — at  least  if 
the  day  is  bright,  and  you  get  the  sacristan 
to  undraw  the  window-curtain  in  the  tran- 
sept itself.  For  then  the  light  of  it  will  be 
enough  to  show  you  the  entirely  authentic 
and  most  renowned  work  of  Giotto's  mas- 
ter ;  and  you  will  see  through  what  school- 
ing the  lad  had  gone. 

A  good  and  brave  master  he  was,  if  ever 
boy  had  one;  and,  as  you  will  find  when 
you  know  really  who  the  great  men  are, 
the  master  is  half  their  life  ;  and  well  they 
know  it — always  naming  themselves  from 
their  master,  rather  than  their  families. 
See  then  what  kind  of  work  Giotto  had 
been  first  put  to.    There  is,  literally,  not  a 


l^CRNlIiGS  i:^  FLOBENCB,  45 

ijqiiare  inch  of  all  that  panel — some  ten  feet 
high  by  six  or  seven  wide — which  is  not 
wrought  in  gold  and  color  with  the  fineness 
of  a  Greek  manuscript..  There  is  not  such 
an  elaborate  piece  of  ornamentation  in  the 
first  page  of  any  Gothic  king's  missal,  as 
you  will  find  in  that  Madonna's  throne ; — • 
the  Madonna  herself  is  meant  to  be  grave 
and  noble  only;  and  to  be  attended  only  by 
angels. 

And  here  is  this  saucy  imp  of  a  lad  de- 
clares his  people  must  do  without  gold,  and 
without  thrones ;  nay,  that  the  Golden  Gate 
itself  shall  have  no  gilding,  that  St.  Joachim 
and  St.  Anne  shall  have  only  one  angel  be- 
tween them ;  and  their  servants  shall  hava 
their  joke,  and  nobody  say  them  nay ! 

It  is  most  wonderful ;  and  would  have 
been  impossible,  had  Cimabue  been  a  com- 
mon man,  though  ever  so  great  in  his  own 
way.  Nor  could  I  in  any  of  my  former 
thinking  understand  how  it  was,  till  I  saw 
Cimabue's  own  work  at  Assisi;  in  which 
he  shows  himself,  at  heart,  as  independent 
of  his  gold  as  Giotto, — even  more  intense, 
capable  of  higher  things  than  Giotto,  though 
of  none,  perhaps,  so  keen  or  sweet.    But  to 


46  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

thi«  day,  among  all  the  Mater  Dolorosa, 
'^f  Christianity,  Cimabue's  at  Assist  is  the 
loblest ;  nor  did  any  painter  after  him  add 
one  link  to  the  chain  of  thought  with  which 
he  summed  the  creation  of  the  earth,  and 
preached  its  redemption. 

He  evidently  never  checked  the  boy,  from 
the  first  day  he  found  him.  Showed  him 
all  he  knew:  talked  with  him  of  many 
things  he  felt  himself  unable  to  paint :  made 
him  a  workman  and  a  gentleman, — above 
all,  a  Christian, — yet  left  him — a  shepherd. 
And  Heaven  had  made  him  such  a  painter, 
that,  at  his  height,  the  words  of  his  epitaph 
are  in  nowise  overwrought :  "  Hie  ego  sum, 
per  quem  pictura  extincta  revixit.'* 

A  word  or  two,  now,  about  the  repainting 
by  which  this  pictura  extincta  has  been  re- 
vived to  meet  existing  taste.  The  sky  is 
entirely  daubed  over  with  fresh  blue ;  yet  it 
leaves  with  unusual  care  the  original  out- 
line of  the  descending  angel,  and  of  the 
white  clouds  about  his  body.  This  idea  of 
the  angel  laying  his  hands  on  the  two  heads 
—(as  a  bishop  at  Confirmation  does,  in  a 
hurry;  and  I've  seen  one  sweep  four  to 
gether,  like  Arnold  de  Winkelied),— partly 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  47 

fa  blessing,  partly  as  a  symbol  of  theif 
being  brought  together  to  the  same  place  by 
God, — was  afterwards  repeated  again  and 
again :  there  is  one  beautiful  little  echo  of  it 
among  the  old  pictures  in  the  schools  of  Ox- 
ford. This  is  the  first  occurrence  of  it  that 
I  know  in  pure  Italian  painting ;  but  the  idea 
is  Etruscan-Greek,  and  is  used  by  the  Etrus- 
can sculptors  of  the  door  of  the  Baptistery 
of  Pisa,  of  the  evil  angel,  who  "lays  tha 
heads  together,"  of  two  very  different  per- 
sons from  these — Herodias  and  her  daugh- 
ter. 

Joachim,  and  the  shepherd  with  the  lark- 
spur cap,  are  both  quite  safe;  the  other 
Bhepherd  a  little  reinforced;  the  black 
bunches  of  grass,  hanging  about,  are  re- 
touches. They  were  once  bunches  of  plants 
drawn  with  perfect  delicacy  and  care ;  you 
may  see  one  left,  faint,  with  heart-shaped 
leaves,  on  the  highest  ridge  of  rock  above 
the  shepherds.  The  whole  landscape  is, 
however,  quite  undecipherably  changed  and 
spoiled. 

You  will  be  apt  to  thmk  at  first,  that  if 
anything  has  been  restored,  surely  the  ugly 
shepherd^s  uglier  feet  have.    Ko^  not  at  all. 


48         I  MORNINGS  IN  FLOltENCE. 

Restored  feet  are  always  drawn  with  en« 
tirely  orthodox  and  academical  toes,  like  the 
Apollo  Belvidere's.  You  would  have  ad- 
mired them  very  much.  These  are  Giotto's 
own  domg,  every  bit ;  and  a  precious  busi- 
ness he  has  had  of  it,  trying  again  and  again 
— ^in  vain.  Even  hands  were  difficult  enough 
to  him,  at  this  time ;  but  feet,  and  bare  legs  I 
Well,  he'll  have  a  try,  he  thinks,  and  gets 
really  a  fair  line  at  last,  when  you  are  close 
to  it ;  but,  laying  the  light  on  the  ground 
afterwards,  he  dare  not  touch  this  precious 
and  dear-bought  outline.  Stops  all  round 
it,  a  quarter  of  an  inch  off,*  with  such  effect 
as  you  see.  But  if  you  want  to  know  what 
sort  of  legs  and  feet  he  can  draw,  look  at 
our  Iambs,  in  the  corner  of  the  fresco  under 
the  arch  on  your  left ! 

And  there  is  one  on  your  right,  though 
more  repainted — the  little  Virgin  present- 
ing herself  at  the  Temple, — about  which  I 
could  also  say  much.    The  stooping  figure, 


iPerhajw  it  is  only  the  restorer's  white  on  the 
ground  that  stops;  but  I  think  a  restorer  would  never 
have  been  so  wise,  but  have  gone  right  up  to  ths 
outline^  and  spoiled  aXL 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOHwNCK  49 

kissing  the  hem  of  her  robe  without  her 
knowing  is,  as  far  as  I  remember,  first  in 
this  fresco ;  the  origin,  itself,  of  the  main 
design  in  all  the  others  you  know  so  well 
(and  with  its  steps,  by  the  way,  in  better 
perspective  already  than  most  of  them). 

"  This  the  original  one  ! "  you  will  be  in- 
clined to  exclaim,  if  you  have  any  general 
knowledge  of  the  subsequent  art.  "  This 
Giotto !  why  it's  a  cheap  rechauffe  of  Titian ! " 
Ko,  my  friendo  The  boy  who  tried  so 
hard  to  draw  those  steps  in  perspective 
had  been  carried  down  others,  to  his  grave, 
two  hundred  years  before  Titian  ran  alone 
at  Cadore.  But,  as  surely  as  Venice  looks 
on  the  sea,  Titian  looked  upon  this,  and 
caught  the  reflected  light  of  it  forever. 

What  kind  of  boy  is  this,  think  you,  who 
can  make  Titian  his  copyist, — Dante  his 
friend?  What  new  power  is  here  which 
is  to  change  the  heart  of  Italy? — can  you 
see  it,  feel  it,  writing  before  you  these  words 
on  the  faded  wall  ? 

"  You  shall  see  things — as  they  Are." 

«  And  the  least  with  the  greatest,  becauso 
God  made  them."  , 

"And  the  greatest  with  the  least,  becauso 
4 


50  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

Grod  made  yow,  and  gave  you  ey^^s  and  a 
heart." 

I.  You  shall  see  things — as  they  are.  So 
easy  a  matter  that,  you  think  ?  So  "much 
more  difficult  and  sublime  to  paint  grand 
processions  and  golden  thrones,  than  St. 
Anne  faint  on  her  pillow,  and  her  servant 
At  pause  ? 

Easy  or  not,  it  is  all  the  sight  that  is  re- 
quired of  you  in  this  world, — to  see  things^ 
and  men  and  yourself, — as  they  are. 

II.  And  the  least  with  the  greatest,  be- 
cause God  made  them, — shepherd,  and  flock, 
and  grass  of  the  field,  no  less  than  the  Golden 
Gate. 

III.  But  also  the  golden  gate  of  Heaven 
itself,  open,  and  the  angels  of  God  coming 
down  from  it. 

These  three  things  Giotto  taught,  and  men 
believed,  in  his  day.  Of  which  Faith  you 
shall  next  see  brighter  work;  only  before 
we  leave  the  cloister,  I  want  to  sum  for  you 
one  or  two  of  the  instant  and  evident  tech- 
nical  changes  produced  in  the  school  of 
Florence  by  this  teaching. 

One  of  quite  the  first  results  of  Giotto's 
•impiy  looking  at  things  as  they  were,  wag 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  bl 

his  finding  out  that  a  red  thing  was  red,  and 
a  brown  thing  brown,  and  a  white  thing 
white — all  over. 

The  Greeks  had  painted  anything  anyhow, 
— gods  black,  horses  red,  lips  and  cheeks 
white ;  and  when  the  Etruscan  vase  expand- 
ed into  a  Cimabue  picture,  or  a  Tafi  mosaic, 
still, — except  that  the  Madonna  was  to  have 
a  blue  dress,  and  everything  else  as  much 
gold  on  it  as  could  be  managed, — there  was 
very  little  advance  in  notions  of  color.  Sud- 
denly, Giotto  threw  aside  all  the  glitter,  and 
all  the  conventionalism ;  and  declared  that 
he  saw  the  sky  blue,  the  tablecloth  white, 
and  angels,  when  he  dreamed  of  them,  rosy. 
And  he  simply  founded  the  schools  of  color 
in  Italy — Venetian  and  all,  as  I  will  show 
you  to-morrow  morning,  if  it  is  fine.  And 
what  is  more,  nobody  discovered  much  about 
color  after  him. 

But  a  deeper  result  of  his  resolve  to  look 
at  things  as  they  were,  was  his  getting  so 
heartily  interested  in  them  that  he  couldn't 
miss  their  decisive  moment.  There  is  a  deci- 
sive instant  in  all  matters ;  and  if  you  look 
languidly,  you  are  sure  to  miss  it.  Nature 
seems  always  somehow  trying  to  make  you 


\i2  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCL. 

jaiss  it.  "  I  will  see  that  through,"  you  must 
say,  *'  without  turning  my  head ; "  or  you 
won't  see  the  trick  of  it  at  all.  And  the  most 
significant  thing  in  all  his  work,  you  will  find 
hereafter,  is  his  choice  of  moments.  I  will 
give  you  at  once*  two  instances  in  a  picture 
which,  for  other  reasons,  you  should  quickly 
compare  with  these  frescos.  Return  by  the- 
Via  delle  Belle  Donne ;  keep  the  Casa  StrozzI 
on  your  right ;  and  go  straight  on,  through. 
the  market.  The  Florentines  think  them- 
selves so  civilized,  forsooth,  for  building  2t 
nuovo  Lung-Arno,  and  three  manufactory 
chimneys  opposite  it :  and  yet  sell  butchers* 
meat  dripping  red,  peaches,  and  anchovies, 
side  by  side :  it  is  a  sight  to  be  seen.  Mucin 
more,  Luca  della  Robbia's  Madonna  in  th^ 
circle  above  the  chapel  door.  Never  pass- 
near  tne  market  without  looking  at  it;  and 
glance  from  the  vegetables  underneath  to 
Luca's  leaves  and  lilies,  that  you  may  see 
how  honestly  he  was  trying  to  make  his  clay^ 
like  the  garden-stuff.  But  to-day,  you  may^ 
pass  quickly  on  to  the  Ulfizii,  which  will  be 
just  open;  and  when  you  enter  the  g^reat 
gallery,  turn  to  the  riitht^and  there,  the  first 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  53 

picture  you  come  at  will  be  No,  6,  Giotto's 
"  Agony  in  the  garden." 

I  used  to  think  it  so  dull  that  I  could  not 
believe  it  was  Giotto's.  That  is  partly  from 
its  dead  color,  which  is  the  boy's  way  of  tell- 
ing you  it  is  night  :-^more  from  the  subject 
being  one  quite  beyond  his  age,  and  which 
he  felt  no  pleasure  in  trying  at.  You  may 
see  he  was  still  a  boy,  for  he  not  only  cannot 
draw  feet  yet,  in  the  least,  and  scrupulously 
hides  them  therefore ;  but  is  very  hard  put 
to  it  for  tlie  hands,  being  obliged  to  draw 
them  mostly  in  the  same  position, — all  the 
four  fingers  together  But  in  the  careful 
bunches  of  grass  and  weeds  you  will  see  what 
the  fresco  foregrounds  were  before  they  got 
spoiled ;  and  there  are  some  things  he  can 
understand  already,  even  about  that  Agony, 
thinking  of  it  in  his  own  fixed  way.  Some 
things, — not  altogether  to  be  explained  by 
the  old  symbol  of  the  angel  with  the  cup. 
He  will  try  if  he  cannot  explain  them  better 
in  those  two  little  pictures  below;  which 
nobody  ever  looks  at ;  the  great  Roman  sar- 
cophagus being  put  in  front  of  them,  and  the 
light  glancing  on  the  new  varnish  so  that  you 
must  twist  about  like  a  lizard  to  see  any* 


64  MOBNINGS  JN  FLORENCE. 

thingc  Nevertheless,  you  may  make  out 
what  Giotto  meant. 

"The  cup  which  my  Father  hath  given 
me,  shall  I  not  drink  it?"  In  what  was 
its  bitterness  ? — thought  the  boy.  "  Cruci- 
fixion ? — Well,  it  hurts,  doubtless ;  but  the 
thieves  had  to  bear  it  too,  and  many  poor 
human  wretches  have  to  bear  worse  on 
our  battlefields.  But " — and  he  thinks,  and 
thinks,  and  then  he  paints  his  two  little 
pictures  for  the  predel' 

They  represent,  of  course,  the  sequence 
of  the  time  in  Gethsemane ;  but  see  what 
choice  the  youth  made  of  his  moments,  hav- 
ing two  panels  to  fill.  Plenty  of  choice  for 
him — in  pain.  The  Flagellation — the  Mock- 
ing— ^the  Bearing  of  the  Cross ; — all  habit- 
ually given  by  the  Margheritones,  and  their 
school,  as  extremes  of  pain. 

"  No,"  thinks  Giotto.  "  There  was  worse 
than  all  that.  Many  a  good  man  has  been 
mocked,  spitefully  entreated,  spitted  on, 
slain.  But  who  was  ever  so  betrayed? 
Who  ever  saw  such  a  sword  thrust  in  his 
mother's  heart?" 

He  paints,  first,  the  laying  hands  on  Him 
in  the  garden,  but  with  only  two  principal 


MORNINGS  JN  FLORENCE.  55 

figures, — Judas  and  Peter,  of  course ;  Judas 
and  Peter  were  always  principal  in  the  old 
Byzantine  composition, — Judas  giving  the 
tiss — Peter  cutting  off  the  servant's  ear. 
But  the  two  are  here,  not  merely  prineipal, 
but  almost  alone  in  sight,  all  the  other 
figures  thrown  back ;  and  Peter  is  not  at  all 
concerned  about  the  servant,  or  his  strug- 
gle with  him.  He  has  got  him  down, — ^but 
looks  back  suddenly  at  Judas  giving  the 
kiss.  What ! — i/ou  are  the  traitor,  then — you! 

"  Yes,"  says  Giotto ;  "  and  you,  also,  in  an 
hour  more." 

The  other  picture  is  more  deeply  felt  still. 
It  is  of  Christ  brought  to  the  foot  of  the 
cross.  There  is  no  wringing  of  hands  or 
lamenting  crowd — no  haggard  signs  of  faint- 
ing or  pain  in  His  body.  Scourging  or  faint- 
ing, feeble  knee  and  torn  wound, — he  thinka 
scorn  of  all  that,  this  shepherd  boy.  One 
executioner  is  hammering  the  wedges  of  the 
cross  harder  down.  The  other — not  un- 
gently — is  taking  Christ's  red  robe  off  His 
shoulders.  And  St.  John,  a  few  yards  off, 
is  keeping  His  mother  from  coming  nearer. 
She  looks  down,  not  at  Christ ;  but  tries  tfl 
come. 


M  MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCEc 

And  now  you  may  go  on  for  your  dayV 
ieeings  through  the  rest  of  the  gallery,  it 
you  will — Fornarma,  and  the  wonderf>il 
cobbler,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I  don't 
want  you  any  more  till  to-  morrow  morn*^ 
ing. 

But  if,  meantime,  you  will  sit  down,^- 
say,  before  Sandro  Botticelli's  "  Fortitude,  *" 
which  I  shall  want  you  to  look  at,  one  of 
these  days  (No.  1299,  innermost  room  from 
the  Tribune),  and  there  read  this  following 
piece  of  one  of  my  Oxford  lectures  on  thts 
relation  of  Cimabue  to  Giotto,  you  will  bo 
better  prepared  for  our  work  to-morrow 
morning  in  Santa  Croce,  and  may  fin4 
something  to  consider  of,  in  the  room  yoa 
are  in.  Where,  by  the  way,  observe  that 
Ko.  1288  is  a  most  true  early  Lionardo,  of 
extreme    interest:  and    the    savants    who 

doubt  it  are never  mind  what ;  but  sit 

down  at  present  at  the  feet  of  Fortitude, 
and  read. 

Those  of  my  readers  who  have  been  wi- 
fortunate  enough  to  interest  themselves 
in  that  most  profitless  of  studies — the  phi- 
losophy of  art — have  been  at  various  timea 
teased  or  amused  by   disputes  respecting 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE.  0? 

the  relative  dignity  of  the  contemplative 
and  dramatic  schools. 

Contemplative,  of  course,  being  the  term 
attached  to  the  system  of  painting  things 
only  for  the  sake  of  their  own  niceness — a 
lady  because  she  is  pretty,  or  a  lion  because 
he  is  strong :  and  the  dramauc  school  being 
that  which  cannot  be  satisfiea  unless  it  sees 
something  going  on  :  which  can't  paint  a 
pretty  lady  unless  she  is  being  made  love  to, 
or  being  murdered ;  and  can't  paint  a  stag 
or  a  lion  unless  they  are  being  hunted,  or 
fihot,  or  the  one  eating  the  other. 

You  have  always  heard  me — or,  if  not, 
will  expect  by  the  very  tone  of  this  sentence 
to  hear  me,  now,  on  the  whole  recommend 
you  to  prefer  the  Contemplative  schooL 
But  the  comparison  is  always  an  imperfect 
and  unjust  one,  unless  quite  other  terms  are 
introduced. 

The  real  greatness  or  smallness  of  schoola 
is  not  in  their  preference  of  inactivity  ta 
action,  nor  of  action  to  inactivity.  It  is  in 
their  preference  of  worthy  things  to  un,» 
worthy,  in  rest ;  and  of  kind  action  to  ui^ 
kind,  in  business. 

A  Dutchman  can  be  just  as  solemnly  and 


§%  MOENINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

entirely  contemplative  of  a  lemon  pip  and  a 
cheese  pariag,  as  an  Italian  of  the  Virgin 
in  Glory.  An  EngUsh  squire  has  pictures, 
purely  contemplative,  of  his  favorite  horse 
—and  a  Parisian  lady,  pictures,  purely  con- 
templative, of  the  back  and  front  of  the  last 
dress  proposed  to  her  in  La  Mode  Artis- 
tique.  All  these  works  belong  to  the  same 
school  of  sUent  admiration ; — the  vital  ques- 
tion concerning  them  is,  "  What  do  you  ad- 
mire?" 

Now  therefore,  when  you  hear  me  so 
often  saying  that  the  Northern  races — ^Nor- 
man  and  Lombard, — are  active,  or  dramatic, 
in  their  art ;  and  that  the  Southern  races — 
Greek  and  Arabian, — are  contemplative,  you 
ought  instantly  to  ask  farther.  Active  in 
what?  Contemplative  of  what?  And  the 
answer  is.  The  active  art — Lombardic, — re- 
joices in  hunting  and  fighting ;  the  contem- 
plative art — Byzantine, — contemplates  the 
mysteries  of  the  Christian  faith. 

And  at  first,  on  such  answer,  one  would 
be  apt  at  once  to  conclude — all  grossness 
must  be  in  the  Lombard;  all  good  in  the 
Byzantine.  But  again  we  should  be  wrong, 
i^-and  extremely  wrong.    For  the  hunting 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  59 

and  fighting  did  practically  produce  strong, 
and  often  virtuous,  men;  while  the  per- 
petual and  inactive  contemplation  of  what  it 
was  impossible  to  understand,  did  not  on 
the  whole  render  the  contemplative  persons, 
stronger,  wiser,  or  even  more  amiable.  So 
that,  in  the  twelfth  century,  while  the 
Korthern  art  was  only  in  need  of  direction, 
the  Southern  was  in  need  of  life.  The 
Korth  was  indeed  spending  its  valor  and 
virtue  on  ignoble  objects ;  but  the  South 
disgracing  the  noblest  objects  by  its  want 
of  valor  and  virtue. 

Central  stood  Etruscan  Florence — ^her 
root  in  the  earth,  bound  with  iron  and  brass 
— ^wet  with  the  dew  of  heaven.  Agriculture 
in  occupation,  religious  in  thought,  she  ac- 
cepted, like  good  ground,  the  good ;  refused, 
like  the  Rock  of  Fesole,  the  evil ;  directed 
the  industry  of  the  Northman  into  the  arts 
of  peace ;  kindled  the  dreams  of  the  Byzan- 
tine with  the  fire  of  charity.  Child  of  her 
peace,  and  exponent  of  her  passion,  her 
Cimabue  became  the  interpreter  to  man- 
kind of  the  meaning  of  the  Birth  of  Christ, 

We  hear  constantly,  and  think  naturally, 
of  him  as  of  a  man  whose  peculiar  genius. 


60  MOBNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE. 

in  painting  suddenly  reformed  its  princi- 
ples ;  who  suddenly  painted,  out  of  his  own 
gifted  imagination,  beautiful  instead  of  rude 
pictures ;  and  taught  his  scholar  Giotto  to 
carry  on  the  impulse;  which  we  suppose 
thenceforward  to  have  enlarged  the  re- 
sources and  bettered  the  achievements  of 
painting  continually,  up  to  our  own  time, — 
when  the  triumphs  of  art  having  been  com- 
pleted, and  its  useS  ended,  something  higher 
is  offered  to  the  ambition  of  mankind ;  and 
Watt  and  Faraday  initiate  the  Age  of  Manu- 
facture and  Science,  as  Cimabue  and  Giotto 
instituted  that  of  Art  and  Imagination. 

In  this  conception  of  the  History  of  Men- 
tal and  Physical  culture,  we  much  overrate 
the  influence,  though  we  cannot  overrate 
the  power,  of  the  men  by  whom  the  change 
seems  to  have  been  effected.  We  cannot 
overrate  their  power, — for  the  greatest  men 
of  any  age,  those  who  become  its  leaders 
when  there  is  a  great  march  to  be  begun, 
are  indeed  separated  from  the  average  in- 
tellects of  their  day  by  a  distance  which  is 
immeasurable  in  any  ordinary  terms  oi 
wonder. 

But  we  far  overrate  their  influence;  he* 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  61 

cause  the  apparently  sudden  result  of  theif 
labor  or  invention  is  only  the  manifested 
fruit  of  the  toil  and  thought  of  many  who 
preceded  them,  and  of  whose  names  we 
have  never  heard.  The  skill  of  Cimabue 
cannot  be  extolled  too  highly ;  but  no  Ma- 
donna by  his  hand  could  ever  have  rejoiced 
the  soul  of  Italy,  unless  for  a  thousand  years 
before  many  a  nameless  Greek  and  nameless 
Goth  had  adorned  the  traditions,  and  lived 
in  the  love,  of  the  Virgin. 

In  like  manner,  it  is  impossible  to  ovei- 
rate  the  sagacity,  patience,  or  precision  of 
the  masters  in  modern  mechanical  and  sci- 
entific discovery.  But  their  sudden  tri- 
umph, and  the  unbalancing  of  all  the  world 
by  their  words,  may  not  in  any  wise  be  at- 
tributed to  their  own  power,  or  even  to  that 
of  the  facts  they  have  ascertained.  They 
owe  their  habits  and  methods  of -industry 
to  the  paternal  example,  no  less  than  tho 
inherited  energy,  of  men  who  long  ago  prosfew 
cuted  the  truths  of  nature,  through  the 
rage  of  war,  and  the  adversity  of  supersti- 
tion ;  and  the  universal  and  overwhelming 
consequences  of  the  facts  which  their  fol- 
lowers have  now  proclaimed,  indicate  only 


62  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

the  crisis  of  a  rapture  produced  by  the  o& 
fering  of  new  objects  of  curiosity  to  nations 
who  had  nothing  to  look  at ;  and  of  the 
amusement  of  novel  motion  and  action  to 
nations  who  had  nothing  to  do. 

Nothing  to  look  at !  That  is  indeed — you 
will  find,  if  you  consider  of  it — our  sorrow- 
ful case.  The  vast  extent  of  the  adver- 
tising fresco  of  London,  daily  refreshed 
into  brighter  and  larger  frescos  by  its  bill- 
gtickers,  cannot  somehow  sufficiently  enter- 
tain the  popular  eyes.  The  great  Mrs. 
Allen,  with  her  flowing  hair,  and  equally 
flowing  promises,  palls  upon  repetition,  and 
that  Madonna  of  the  nienteenth  century 
smiles  in  vain  above  many  a  borgo  unre- 
joiced;  even  the  excitement  of  the  shop- 
window,  with  its  unattainable  splendors, 
or  too  easily  attainable  impostures,  cannot 
maintain  itself  in  the  wearying  mind  of  the 
populace,  and  I  find  my  charitable  friends 
inviting  the  children,  whom  the  streets 
educate  only  into  vicious  misery,  to  enter- 
tainments of  scientific  vision,  in  microscope 
or  magic  lantern ;  thus  giving  them  some- 
thing to  look  at,  such  as  it  is ; — ^fleas  mostly; 
and  the  stomachs  of  various  vermin;  and 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  63 

people  with  their  heads  cut  off  and  set  on 
again ; — still  something^  to  look  at. 

The  fame  of  Cimabue  rests,  and  justly, 
on  a  similar  charity.  He  gave  the  populace 
of  his  day  something  to  look  at ;  and  satis- 
fied their  curiosity  with  science  of  some- 
thing they  had  long  desired  to  know.  We 
have  continually  imagined  in  our  careless- 
ness, that  his  triumph  consisted  only  in  a 
new  pictorial  skill;  recent  critical  writers, 
tmable  to  comprehend  how  any  street  popu- 
lace could  take  pleasure  in  painting,  have 
ended  by  denying  his  triumph  altogether, 
and  insisted  that  he  gave  no  joy  to  Florence ; 
and  that  the  "  Joyful  quarter  "  was  accident* 
ally  so  named — or  at  least  from  no  other 
festivity  than  that  of  the  procession  attend- 
ing Charles  of  Anjou.  I  proved  to  you,  in 
a  former  lecture,  that  the  old  tradition  was 
true,  and  the  delight  of  the  people  unques- 
tionable. But  that  delight  was  not  merely  in 
the  revelation  of  an  art  they  had  not  known 
how  to  practice ;  it  was  delight  in  the  rev- 
elation of  a  Madonna  whom  they  had  not 
known  how  to  love. 

Again ;  what  was  revelation  to  th,em — ^we 
suppose  farther  and  as  unwisely,  to  havt 


64  MOENINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

been  only  art  in  him  /  that  in  better  laying  of 
colors, — in  better  tracing  of  perspectives^* 
in  recovery  of  principles  of  classic  composi* 
tion — he  had  manufactured,  as  our  Gothio 
Fu*ms  now  manufacture  to  order,  a  Ma- 
donna— in  whom  he  believed  no  more  than 
they. 

Not  so.  First  of  the  Florentines,  first  of 
the  European  men — ^he  attained  in  thought, 
and  saw  with  spiritual  eyes,  exercised  to 
discern  good  from  evil, — the  face  of  her  who 
was  blessed  among  women;  and  with  his 
following  hand,  made  visible  the  Magnif- 
icat of  his  heart. 

He  magnified  the  Maid;  and  Florence 
rejoiced  in  her  Queen.  But  it  was  left  for 
Giotto  to  make  the  queenship  better  beloved, 
in  its  sweet  humiliation. 

You  had  the  Etruscan  stock  in  Florence- 
Christian,  or  at  least  semi-Christian;  tho 
gtatue  of  Mars  still  in  its  streets,  but  with 
its  central  temple  built  for  Baptism  in  the 
name  of  Christ.  It  was  a  race  living  by 
agriculture;  gentle,  thoughtful,  and  exqui- 
sitely fine  in  handiwork.  The  straw  bonnet 
of  Tuscany — ^the  Leghorn — is  pure  Etruscan 
art,  young  ladies  : — only  plaited  gold  ol 


MOBNINGM  IN  FLORENCE.  65 

God's  harvest,  instead  of  the  plaited  gold 
of  His  earth. 

You  had  then  the  Norman  and  Lombard 
races  coming  down  on  this :  kings  and  hun- 
ters— splendid  in  war — insatiable  of  action. 
You  had  the  Greek  and  Arabian  races  flow* 
ing  from  the  east,  bringing  with  them  the 
law  of  the  City,  and  the  dream  of  the  Desert* 

Cimabue — Etruscan  born,  gave,  we  saw, 
the  life  of  the  Korman  to  the  tradition  of 
the  Greek :  eager  action  to  holy  contempla- 
tion. And  what  more  is  left  for  his  favorite 
shepherd  boy  Giotto  to  do,  than  this,  except 
to  paint  with  ever-increasing  skill?  We 
fancy  he  only  surpassed  Cimabue— eclipsed 
by  greater  brightness. 

Kot  so.  The  sudden  and  new  applause  of 
Italy  would  never  have  been  won  by  mere 
increase  of  the  already-kindled  light.  Giotto 
had  wholly  another  work  to  do.  The  meet- 
ing of  the  Norman  race  with  the  Byzantine 
is  not  merely  that  of  action  with  repose — 
not  merely  that  of  war  with  religion, — it  is 
the  meeting  of  domestic  life  with  monastic^ 
and  of  practical  household  sense  with  un- 
practical Desert  insanity. 

I  have  no  other  word  to  use  than  this  lask 
6 


66  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

I  use  It  reverently,  meaning  a  very  noblo 
thing ;  I  do  not  know  how  far  I  ought  to  say 
—even  a  divine  thing.  Decide  that  for  your- 
selves. Compare  the  Northern  farmer  with 
St.  Francis ;  the  palm  hardened  by  stubbing 
Thornaby  waste,  with  the  palm  softened  by 
the  imagination  of  the  wounds  of  Christ.  To 
my  own  thoughts,  both  are  divine ;  decide 
that  for  yourselves ;  but  assuredly,  and  with- 
out possibility  of  other  decision,  one  is, 
humanly  speaking,  healthy;  the  other  un- 
healthy ;  one  sane,  the  other — insane. 

To  reconcile  Drama  with  Dream,  Cima* 
bue's  task  was  comparatively  an  easy  one. 
But  to  reconcile  Sense  with — I  still  use  even 
this  following  word  reverently — Nonsense, 
is  not  so  easy ;  and  he  who  did  it  first, — no 
wonder  he  has  a  name  in  the  world. 

I  must  lean,  however,  still  more  distinctly 
on  the  word  "domestic."  For  it  is  not 
Rationalism  and  commercial  competition- 
Mr.  Stuart  Mill's  "  other  career  for  woman 
than  that  of  wife  and  mother  " — which  are 
reconcilable,  by  Giotto,  or  by  anybody  else, 
with  divine  vision.  But  household  wisdom, 
labor  of  love,  toil  upon  earth  according  to 
the  law  oi  Heaven — these  are  reconcilable^ 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  67 

in  one  code  of  glory,  with  revelation  in  cave 
or  island,  with  the  endurance  of  desolate  and 
loveless  days,  with  the  repose  of  folded  hands 
that  wait  Heaven's  time. 

Domestic  and  monastic.  He  was  the  first 
of  Italians — the  first  of  Christians — who 
equally  knew  the  virtue  of  both  lives ;  and 
who  was  able  to  show  it  in  the  sight  of  men 
of  all  ranks, — from  the  prince  to  the  shep- 
herd ;  and  of  all  powers, — from  the  wisest 
philosopher  to  the  simplest  child. 

For,  note  the  way  in  which  the  new  gift  of 
painting,  bequeathed  to  him  by  his  great 
master,  strengthened  his  hands.  Before 
Cimabue,  no  beautiful  rendering  of  human 
form  was  possible ;  and  the  rude  or  formal 
types  of  the  Lombard  and  Byzantine,  though 
they  would  serve  in  the  tumult  of  the  chase 
or  as  the  recognized  symbols  of  creed,  could 
not  represent  personal  and  domestic  charac- 
ter. Faces  with  goggling  eyes  and  rigid  lips 
might  be  endured  with  ready  help  of  imagi- 
nation, for  gods,  angels,  saints,  or  hunters — 
or  for  anybody  else  in  scenes  of  recognized 
legend,  but  would  not  serve  for  pleasant  por- 
traiture of  one's  own  self — or  of  the  incidents 
of  gentle,  actual  life.    And  even  CimabuQ 


68  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

did  not  ventnre  to  leave  the  sphere  of  cOBs* 
ventionally  reverenced  dignity.  He  stiU 
painted — though  beautifully — only  the  Ma- 
donna, and  the  St.  Joseph,  and  the  Christ. 
These  he  made  living, — Florence  asked  »o 
more :  and  "  Credette  Cimabue  nella  pintura 
tener  lo  campo." 

But  Giotto  came  from  the  field,  and  saw 
with  his  simple  eyes  a  lowlier  worth.  And 
he  painted — the  Madonna,  and  St.  Joseph, 
and  the  Christ, — yes,  by  all  means  if  you 
choose  to  call  them  so,  but  essentially,— 
Mamma,  Papa,  and  the  Baby.  And  all  Italy 
threw  up  its  cap, — "  Ora  ha  Giotto  il  grido.'* 

For  he  defines,  explains,  and  exalts,  every 
sweet  incident  of  human  nature ;  and  makes 
dear  to  daily  life  every  mystic  imagination 
of  natures  greater  than  our  own.  He  recon- 
ciles, while  he  intensifies,  every  virtue  of 
domestic  and  monastic  thought.  He  makes 
the  simplest  household  duties  sacred,  and 
the  highest  religious  passions  serviceable  and 
just. 


THE  THIRD  MORI^MG. 

BEFORE    THE    SOLDAN. 

I  PROMISED  some  note  of  Sandro's  Forti- 
tude, before  whom  I  asked  you  to  '^it  and 
read  the  end  of  my  last  letter ;  and  I've  lost 
my  own  notes  about  her,  and  forget,  now, 
whether  she  has  a  sword,  or  a  mace ; — ^it 
does  not  matter.  What  is  chiefly  notable 
in  her  is — that  you  would  not,  if  you  had  to 
guess  who  she  was,  take  her  for  Fortitude 
'^.t  all.  Everybody  else's  Fortitudes  an- 
'lounce  themselves  clearly  and  proudly, 
rhey  have  tower-like  shields,  and  lion-like 
helmets — and  stand  firm  astride  on  their  legs, 
— and  are  confidently  ready  for  all  comers. 

Yes; — that  is  your  common  Fortitude. 
Very  grand,  though  common.  But  not  the 
highest,  by  any  means. 

Ready  for  all  comers,  and  a  match  for 
them, — thinks  the  universal  Fortitude;— 

69 


^0  MORNINOS  liV  FLORENCE, 

no  thanks  to  her  for  standmg  so  steady, 
then ! 

But  Botticelli's  Fortitude  is  no  match,  it 
may  be,  for  any  that  are  coming.  Worn, 
somewhat ;  and  not  a  little  weary,  instead 
of  standing  ready  for  all  comers,  she  is 
sitting, — apparently  in  reverie,  her  fingers 
playing  restlessly  and  idly — nay,  I  think- 
even  nervously,  about  the  hilt  of  her  sword. 

For  her  battle  is  not  to  begin  to-day ;  nor 
did  it  begin  yesterday.  Many  a  morn  and 
eve  have  passed  since  it  began — and  now — 
is  this  to  be  the  ending  day  of  it  ?  And  if 
this — ^by  what  manner  of  end? 

That  is  what  Sandro's  Fortitude  is  think- 
ing. And  the  playing  fingers  about  the 
sword-hilt  would  fain  let  it  fall,  if  it  might 
be :  and  yet,  how  swiftly  and  gladly  will 
they  close  on  it,  when  the  far-off  trumpet 
blows,  which  she  will  hear  through  all  her 
reverie ! 

There  is  yet  another  picture  of  Sandro's 
here,  which  you  must  look  at  before  going 
back  to  Giotto:  the  small  Judith  in  the 
room  next  the  Tribune,  as  you  return  from 
this  outer  one.  It  is  just  under  Lionardo's 
Medusa.    She  is  returning  to  the  camp  of 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLOBENCA  71 

her  Israel,  followed  by  her  maid  carrying 
the  head  of  Hololernes.  And  she  walks  in 
one  of  Botticelli's  light  dancing  actions,  her 
drapery  all  on  flutter,  and  her  hand,  like 
Fortitude's,  light  on  the  sword-hilt,  but 
daintily — ^not  nervously,  the  little  finger  laid 
over  tne  cross  of  it. 

And  at  the  first  glance — ^you  will  think 
the  figure  merely  a  piece  of  fifteenth-cen- 
tury afi'ectation.  "Judith,  indeed! — say 
rather  the  daughter  of  Ilerodias,  at  her 
mincingest." 

Well,  yes — Botticelli  is  affected,  in  the 
way  that  all  men  in  that  century  necessarily 
were.  Much  euphuism,  much  studied  grace 
of  manner,  much  formal  assertion  of  scholar* 
fihip,  mingling  with  his  force  of  imagina- 
tion. And  he  likes  twisting  the  fingers  of 
hands  about,  just  as  Correggio  does.  But 
he  never  does  it  like  Correggio,  without 
cause. 

Look  at  Judith  again, — at  her  face,  not 
her  drapery, — and  remember  that  when  a 
man  is  base  at  the  heart,  he  blights  his  vir« 
tues  into  weaknesses ;  but  when  he  is  true 
at  the  heart,  he  sanctifies  his  weaknesses 
into  virtues.    It  is  a  weakness  of  Botticelli's 


72  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

this  love  of  dancing  motion  and  waved  dr> 
pery ;  but  why  has  he  given  it  full  flight 
here? 

Do  you  happen  to  know  anything  about 
Judith  yourself,  except  that  she  cut  off 
Holofemes'  head ;  and  has  been  made  the 
high  light  of  about  a  million  of  vile  pictures 
ever  since,  in  which  the  painters  thought 
they  could  surely  attract  the  pubUc  to  tha 
double  show  of  an  execution,  and  a  pretty 
woman,  — especially  with  the  added  pleas- 
ure of  hinting  at  previously  ignoble  sin  ? 

When  you  go  home  to-day,  take  the  pains 
to  write  out  for  yourself,  in  the  connection 
I  here  place  them,  the  verses  underneath 
numbered  from  the  book  of  Judith ;  you  will 
probably  think  of  their  meaning  more  care- 
fully as  you  write. 
Begin  thus : 

"  Now  at  that  time,  Judith  heard  thereof, 
wrhich  was  the  daughter  of  Merari,  *  *  * 
the  son  of  Simeon,  the  son  of  Israel."  And 
then  write  out,  consecutively,  these  pieces- 
Chapter  viii.,  verses  2  to  8.  (Always  in- 
elusive,)  and  read  the  whole  chapter. 

Chapiier  ix.,  verses  1  and  5  to  7,  begin- 
ning this  piece  with  the  previous  senteuoe^ 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  7S 

••Oh  God,  oh  my  God,  hear  me  also    a 
widow." 


Chapter  ix., 

verses  11  to  14. 

(( 

X., 

(( 

lto5. 

a 

xiii., 

(( 

6  to  10. 

u 

XV., 

u 

11  to  13. 

4» 

xvi., 

a 

lto6. 

it 

xvi., 

it 

11  to  15. 

CI 

xvi., 

it 

18  and  19. 

a 

xvi., 

t 

23  to  25. 

Kow,  as  in  many  other  cases  of  nohle 
history,  apocryphal  and  other,  I  do  not  in 
the  least  care  how  far  the  literal  facts  are 
true.  The  conception  of  facts,  and  the  idea 
of  Jewish  womanhood,  are  there,  grand  and 
real  as  a  marble  statue, — possession  for  all 
ages.  And  you  will  feel,  after  you  have 
read  this  piece  of  history,  or  epic  poetry, 
with  honorable  care,  that  there  is  some- 
what more  to  be  thought  of  and  pictured  in 
Judith,  than  painters  have  mostly  found  it 
in  them  to  show  you ;  that  she  is  not  merely 
the  Jewish  Delilah  to  the  Assyrian  Samson ; 
but  the  mightiest,  purest,  briglitest  type  of 
high  passion  in  severe  "womanhood  offered 
to  our  human  memory.    Sandro's  picture  ia 


74  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

but  slight ;  but  it  is  true  to  her,  and  the 
only  one  I  know  that  is ;  and  after  writing 
out  these  verses,  you  will  see  why  he  gives 
her  that  swift,  peaceful  motion,  while  you 
read  in  her  face,  only  sweet  solemnity  of 
dreaming  thought.  "  My  people  delivered, 
and  by  my  hand ;  and  God  has  been  gra- 
cious to  His  handmaid ! "  The  triumph  of 
Miriam  over  a  fallen  host,  the  fire  of  exult- 
ing mortal  life  in  an  immortal  hour,  the 
purity  and  severity  of  a  guardian  angel — all 
are  here ;  and  as  her  servant  follows,  carry- 
ing indeed  the  head,  but  invisible — (a  mere 
thmg  to  be  carried — no  more  to  be  so  much 
as  thought  of) — she  looks  only  at  her  mis- 
tress, with  intense,  servile,  watchful  love. 
Faithful,  not  in  these  days  of  fear  only,  but 
hitherto  in  all  her  life,  and  afterwards 
forever. 

After  you  have  seen  it  enough,  loolt  also 
for  a  little  while  at  Angelico's  Marriago  and 
Death  of  the  Virgin,  in  the  same  room  j  yoa 
may  afterwards  associate  the  three  pict^ures 
always  together  in  your  mind.  And,  look' 
ing  at  nothing  else  to-day  in  the  Uffisi,  let 
Us  go  back  to  Giotto's  chapel. 

We  must  begin  with  this  work  o^  oul 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  75 

left  hand,  the  Death  of  St.  Francis  ;  for  it 
is  the  key  to  all  the  rest.  Let  us  hear  first 
what  Mr.  Crowe  directs  us  to  think  of  it. 
"In  the  composition  of  this  scene,  Giotto 
produced  a  masterpiece,  which  served  as 
a  model  but  too  often  feebly  imitated  by  his 
successors.  Good  arrangement,  variety  of 
character  and  expression  in  the  heads,  unity 
and  harmony  in  the  whole,  make  this  aa 
exceptional  work  of  its  kind.  As  a  com- 
position, worthy  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
Ghirlandajo  and  Benedetto  da  Majano  both 
imitated,  without  being  able  to  improve  it. 
No  painter  ever  produced  its  equal  excapt 
Raphael ;  nor  could  a  better  be  created  ex- 
cept in  so  far  as  regards  improvement  ia 
the  mere  rendering  of  form." 

To  these  inspiring  observations  by  the 
rapturous  Crowe,  more  cautious  Cavalca- 
sella^   appends  a  refrigerating  note,  say- 

1 1  venture  to  attribute  the  wiser  note  to  Signor 
Cavalcasella  because  I  have  every  reason  to  put  real 
confidence  in  his  judgment.  But  it  was  impossible 
for  any  man,  engaged  as  he  is,  to  go  over  all  the 
ground  covered  by  so  extensf/e  a  piece  of  critical 
work  as  these  three  volumes  contain,  with  effectivt 
attention. 


76         Moi::;iJSG3  ly  florencis 

ing,  "  The  St.  Francis  in  the  glory  is  nesvr^ 
but  the  angels  are  in  part  preserved.  Tho 
rest  has  all  been  more  or  less  retouched ; 
and  no  judgment  can  be  given  as  to  the 
color  of  this — or  any  ,  other  (!) — of  these 
works." 

You  are,  therefore — instructed  reader- 
called  upon  to  admire  a  piece  of  art  which 
no  painter  ever  produced  the  equal  of  ex- 
cept Raphael ;  but  it  is  unhappily  deficient, 
according  to  Crowe,  in  the  "  mere  render- 
ing of  form " ;  and,  according  to  Signor 
Cavalcasella,  "no  opinion  can  be  given  as 
to  its  color." 

Warned  thus  of  the  extensive  places 
w^here  the  ice  is  dangerous,  and  forbidden 
to  look  here  either  for  form  or  color,  you 
are  to  admire  "  the  variety  of  character  and 
expression  in  the  beads."  I  do  not  myself 
know  how  these  are  to  be  given  without 
form  or  color ;  but  there  appears  to  me,  in 
my  innocence,  to  be  only  one  head  in  the 
whole  picture,  drawn  up  and  down  in  dif- 
ferent positions. 

The  "  unity  and  harmony  "  of  the  whole 
. — ^which  make  this  an  exceptional  work  of 
its  kind — mean,  1  suppose,  its  general  look 


MOBNINGiS  IJSr  FLORENCL  77 

of  having  been  painted  out  of  a  scavenger's 
cart ;  and  so  we  are  reduced  to  the  last 
article  of  our  creed  according  to  Crowe, — 

"  In  the  composition  of  this  scene  Giotto 
produced  a  masterpiece." 

\Yell,  possibly.  The  question  is,  What 
you  mean  by  "  composition."  Which,  put- 
ting modern  criticism  now  out  of  our  way, 
I  will  ask  the  reader  to  think,  in  front  of 
this  wreck  of  Giotto,  with  some  care. 

Was  it,  in  the  first  place,  to  Giotto,  think 
you,  the  "  composition  of  a  scene,"  or  the 
conception  of  a  fact?  You  probably,  if  a 
fashionable  person,  have  seen  the  apotheosis 
of  Margaret  in  Faust?  You  know  what 
care  is  taken,  nightly,  in  the  composition  of 
that  scene, — how  the  draperies  are  arranged 
for  it ;  the  lights  turned  off,  and  on ;  the 
fiddlestrings  taxed  for  their  utmost  tender- 
ness ;  the  bassoons  exhorted  to  a  grievous 
solemnity. 

You  don't  believe,  however,  that  any  real 
soul  of  a  Margaret  ever  appeared  to  any  mor- 
tal in  that  manner? 

^ere  is  an  apotheosis  also.  Composed  !— 
yes ;  figures  high  on  the  right  and  left,  low 
in  the  middle,  etc.,  etQ.,  etc. 


78  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

But  the  important  questions  seem  to  tu^ 
Was  there  ever  a  St.  Francis  ? — did  he  ever 
receive  stigmata? — did  his  soul  go  up  to 
heaven  ? — did  any  monk  see  it  rising? — and 
did  Giotto  mean  to  tell  us  so  ?  If  you  will 
be  good  enough  to  settle  these  few  small 
points  in  your  mind  first,  the  "  composition  " 
will  take  a  wholly  different  aspect  to  you, 
according  to  your  answer. 

Kor  does  it  seem  doubtful  to  me  what  youp 
answer,  after  investigation  made,  must  be. 

There  assuredly  was  a  St.  Francis,  whose 
life  and  works  you  had  better  study  than 
either  to-day's  Galignani,  or  whatever,  this 
year,  may  supply  the  place  of  the  Tichborn© 
case,  in  public  interest. 

His  reception  of  the  stigmata  is,  perhaps, 
a  marvellous  instance  of  the  power  of  imagi- 
nation over  physical  conditions  ;  perhaps  an 
equally  marvelous  instance  of  the  swift 
change  of  metaphor  into  tradition ;  but  as- 
suredly, and  beyond  dispute,  one  of  the  most 
influential,  significant,  and  instructive  tradi- 
tions possessed  by  the  Church  of  Christ. 
And,  that,  if  ever  soul  rose  to  heaven  from 
the  dead  body,  his  soul  did  so  rise,  is  equally 
bure. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  79 

And,  finally,  Giotto  believed  that  all  he 
was  called  on  to  represent,  concerning  St, 
Francis,  really  had  taken  place,  just  as  surely 
as  you,  if  you  are  a  Christian,  believe  that 
Christ  died  and  rose  again ;  and  he  repre* 
sents  it  with  all  fidelity  and  passion :  but> 
as  I  just  now  said,  he  is  a  man  of  supremo 
common  sense; — has  as  much  humor  and 
clearness  of  sight  as  Chaucer,  and  as  much 
dislike  of  falsehood  in  clergy,  or  in  pro- 
fessedly pious  people :  and  in  his  gravest 
moments  he  will  still  see  and  say  truly  that 
what  is  fat,  is  fat — and  what  is  lean,  lean— 
and  what  is  hollow,  empty. 

His  great  point,  however,  in  this  fresco,  is 
tiie  assertion  of  the  reality  of  the  stigmata 
against  all  question.  There  is  not  only  one 
St.  Thomas  to  he  convinced ;  there  are  five ; 
—one  to  each  wound.  Of  these,  four  are 
intent  only  on  satisfying  their  curiosity,  and 
are  peering  or  probing ;  one  only  kisses  the 
hand  he  has  lifted.  The  rest  of  the  picture 
never  was  much  more  than  a  gray  drawing 
of  a  noble  burial  service ;  of  all  concerned  in 
which,  one  monk,  only,  is  worthy  to  see  the 
0oul  taken  up  to  heaven ;  and  he  is  evidently 
Jost  the  monk  whom  nobody  in  the  convent 


PJ  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

thought  anything  of.  (His  face  is  all  re. 
painted ;  but  one  can  gather  this  much,  or 
little,  out  of  it,  yet.) 

Of  the  composition,  or  "  unity  and  har- 
mony of  the  whole,"  as  a  burial  service,  we 
may  better  judge  after  we  have  looked  at 
the  brighter  picture  of  St.  Francis's  Birth — 
birth  spiritual,  that  is  to  say,  to  his  native 
heaven ;  the  uppermost,  namely,  of  the  three 
subjects  on  this  side  of  the  chapel.  It  is  en- 
tirely characteristic  of  Giotto;  much  of  it 
by  his  hand — all  of  it  beautiful.  All  impor- 
tant matters  to  be  known  of  Giotto  you  may 
know  from  this  fresco. 

*'But  we  can't  see  it,  even  with  our  opera- 
glasses,  but  all  foreshortened  and  spoiled. 
What  is  the  use  of  lecturing  us  on  this  ?" 

That  is  precisely  the  first  point  which  is 
essentially  Giottesque  in  it ;  its  being  so  out 
of  the  way !  It  is  this  which  makes  it  a  per- 
fect specimen  of  the  master.  I  will  tell  you 
next  something  about  a  work  of  his  which 
you  can  see  perfectly,  just  behind  you  on  the 
opposite  side  oi  the  wall ;  but  that  you  have 
Imlf  to  break  your  neck  to  look  at  this  one^ 
J8  the  very  first  thing  I  want  you  to  feel, 
ji,.  It  is  a  characteristic — (as  far  as  I  knon^ 


MOBJUriNGS  IN  FLORENCE,  81 

liuite  a  universal  one) — of  the  greatest  mas- 
ters, that  they  never  expect  you  to  look  at 
them ;  seem  always  rather  surprised  if  you 
Want  to;  and  not  overpleased.  Tell  them 
you  are  going  to  hang  their  picture  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  table  at  the  next  great  City 
dinner,  and  that  Mr.  So-and-So  will  make  a 
Bpeech  about  it ;  you  produce  no  impression 
upon  them  whatever,  or  an  unfavorable  one. 
The  chances  are  ten  to  one  they  send  you  the 
most  rubbishy  thing  they  can  find  in  their 
himber-room.  But  send  for  one  of  them  in 
a  hurry,  and  tell  him  the  rats  have  gnawed 
a  nasty  hole  behind  ttie  parlor  door,  and  you 
"Want  it  plastered  and  painted  over ; — and  he 
does  you  a  masterpiece  which  the  world  will 
peep  behind  your  door  to  look  at  forever. 

I  have  no  time  to  tell  you  why  this  is  so ; 
nor  do  I  know  why,  altogether ;  but  so  it  is. 

Giotto,  then,  is  sent  for,  to  paint  this  high, 
chapel :  I  am  not  sure  if  he  chose  his  own 
subjects  from  the  life  of  St.  Francis :  I  think 
so, — but  of  course  can't  reason  on  the  guess 
securely.  At  all  events,  he  would  have 
much  of  his  own  way  in  the  matter. 

Now  you  must  observe  that  painting  a 
Gothic  chapel  rightly  is  just  the  same  thing 
6 


92  JIORHriNGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

as  painting  a  Greek  vase  rightly.  Tho 
chapel  is  merely  the  vase  turned  upside- 
down,  and  outside-ln.  The  principles  of 
decoration  are  exactly  the  same.  Your 
decoration  is  to  be  proportioned  to  the  size 
of  your  vase ;  to  be  together  delightful  when, 
you  look  at  the  cup,  or  chapel,  as  a  whole ; 
to  be  various  and  entertaining  when  you 
turn  the  cup  round  (you  turn  yourself 
round  in  the  chapel) ;  and  to  bend  its  heads 
and  necks  of  figures  about,  as  it  best  can, 
over  the  hollows,  and  ins  and  outs,  so  that 
anyhow,  whether  too  long  or  too  short — 
possible  or  impossible — they  may  be  living, 
and  full  of  grace.  You  will  also  please  take 
it  on  my  word  to-day — in  another  morning 
walk  you  shall  have  proof  of  it — ^that  Giotto 
was  a  pure  Etruscan-Greek  of  the  thirteenth 
century:  converted  indeed  to  worship  St. 
Francis  instead  of  Heracles ;  but  as  far  as 
vase-painting  goes,  precisely  the  Etruscan 
he  was  before.  This  is  nothing  else  than  a 
large,  beautiful,  colored  Etruscan  vase  you 
have  got,  inverted  over  your  heads  like  a 
diving-bell.^ 

^  I  observe  tha- recent  criticism  is  engaged  in  prov- 
tog  all  Etruscan  vases  to  be  of  late  manufacture,  in 


JIORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  8* 

Accordingly,  after  the  quatrefoil  ornamen- 
tation of  the  top  of  the  bell,  you  get  two 
spaces  at  the  sides  under  arches,  very  diffi- 
cult to  cramp  one's  picture  into,  if  it  is  to  b© 
a  picture  only ;  but  entirely  provocative  of 
our  old  Etruscan  instinct  of  ornament. 
And,  spurred  by  the  difficulty,  and  pleased 

imitation  of  archaic  Greek.  And  I  therefore  must 
briefly  anticipate  a  statement  whicli  I  shall  have  to 
enforce  in  following  letters.  Etruscan  art  remains 
In  its  own  Italian  valleys,  of  the  Arno  and  upper 
Tiber,  in  one  unbroken  series  of  work,  from  th» 
seventh  centuiy  before  Christ,  to  this  hour,  when 
the  country  whitewasher  still  scratches  his  plaster  in 
Etruscan  patterns.  All  Florentine  work  of  the  finest 
kind — Luca  della  Robbia's,  Ghiberti's,  Donatello's, 
Filippo  Lippi's,  Botticelli's,  Fra  Angelico's — is  ab- 
ftolutely  pure  Etruscan,  merely  changing  its  subjects, 
and  representing  the  Virgin  instead  of  Athena,  and 
Christ  instead  of  Jupiter.  Every  line  of  the  Floren- 
tine chisel  in  the  fifteenth  century  is  based  on  na- 
tional principles  of  art  which  existed  in  the  seventh 
century  before  Christ  ;  and  Angelico,  in  his  convent 
of  St,  Dominic,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of  Fesole,  is  as 
true  an  Etruscan  as  the  builder  who  laid  the  rude 
stones  of  the  wall  along  its  crest — of  which  modern 
civilization  has  used  the  only  arch  that  remained 
for  cheap  building  stone.  Luckily,  I  sketched  it  in 
1845  ;  but  alas,  too  carelessly, — never  conceiving  of 
the  brutalities  of  modern  Italy  as  possible. 


'M  MOBNIXGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

by  the  national  character  of  it,  we  pnt  oui 
"best  work  into  these  arches,  utterly  neglect- 
ful of  the  public  below, — who  will  see  the 
white  and  red  and  blue  spaces,  at  any  rate, 
which  is  2i\\  they  will  want  to  see,  thinks 
Giotto,  if  he  ever  looks  down  from  his  scaf* 
fold. 

Take  the  highest  compartment,  then,  on 
the  left,  looking  towards  the  window.  Ifc 
was  wholly  impossible  to  get  the  arch  filled 
with  figures,  unless  they  stood  on  each, 
other's  heads ;  so  Giotto  ekes  it  oufe 
with  a  piece  of  fine  architecture.  Raphael,, 
in  the  Sposalizio,  does  the  same,  for  pleas- 
ure. 

Then  he  puts  two  dainty  little  white 
figures,  bending,  on  each  flank,  to  stop  up 
his  corners.  But  he  puts  the  taller  inside  on 
the  right,  and  outside  on  the  left.  And  he 
puts  his  Greek  chorus  of  observant  and 
moralizing  persons  on  each  side  of  his  main 
action. 

Then  he  puts  one  Choragus — or  leader  of 
chorus,  supporting  the  main  action — on  each 
Bide.  Then  he  puts  the  main  action  in  the 
middle— which  is  a  quarrel  about  that  white 
i>one  of  contention  in  the  center.    Choragus 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOREFCE,  85 

DD  the  right,  who  sees  that  the  bishop  is 
going  to  have  the  best  of  it,  backs  him  se- 
renely. Choragus  on  the  left,  who  sees  that 
his  impetuous  friend  is  going  to  get  the 
worst  of  it,  is  pulling  him  back,  and  trying 
to  keep  him  quiet.  The  subject  of  the  pict- 
ure, which,  after  you  are  quite  sure  it  is 
good  as  a  decoration,  but  not  till  then,  you 
may  be  allowed  to  understand,  is  the  follow- 
ing. One  of  St.  Francis's  three  great  virtuea 
being  Obedience,  he  begins  his  spiritual  life 
by  quarreling  with  his  father.  He,  I  sup- 
pose in  modern  terms  I  should  say,  "  com- 
mercially invests  "  some  of  his  father's  goods 
in  charity.  His  father  objects  to  that  invest- 
ment; on  which  St.  Francis  runs  away, 
taking  what  he  can  find  about  the  house 
along  with  him.  His  father  follows  to  claim 
his  property,  but  finds  it  is  all  gone,  already ; 
and  that  St.  Francis  has  made  friends  with 
the  Bishop  of  Assisi.  His  father  flies  into 
an  indecent  passion,  and  declares  he  will 
disinherit  him ;  on  which  St.  Francis  then 
and  there  takes  all  his  clothes  off,  throws 
them  frantically  in  his  father's  face,  and 
says  he  has  nothing  more  to  do  with  clothes 
or  father     The  good  Bishop,  in  tears  of  ad- 


€6  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

mirarion,  embraces  St.  Francis,  and  covera 
him  with  his  own  md,ntle. 

I  have  read  the  picture  to  you  as,  if  Mr. 
Spurgeon  knew  anything  about  art,  Mr. 
Spurgeon  would  read  it, — that  is  to  say, 
from  the  plain,  common-sense,  Protestant 
side.  If  you  are  content  with  that  view  of 
it,  you  may  leave  the  chapel,  and,  as  far  as 
any  study  of  history  is  concerned,  Florence 
also;  for  you  can  never  know  anything 
either  about  Giotto,  or  her. 

Yet  do  not  be  afraid  of  my  re-reading  it 
to  you  from  the  mystic,  nonsensical,  and 
Papistical  side.  I  am  going  to  read  it  to 
you — if  after  many  and  many  a  year  of 
thought,  I  am  able — as  Giotto  meant  it; 
Giotto  being,  as  far  as  we  know,  then  the 
man  of  strongest  brain  and  hand  in  Florence ; 
the  best  friend  of  the  best  religious  poet  of 
the  world ;  and  widely  differing,  as  his  friend 
did  also,  in  his  views  of  the  world,  from 
either  Mr.  Spurgeon  or  Pius  IX. 

The  first  duty  of  a  child  is  to  obey  its 
father  and  mother;  as  the  first  duty  of  a 
citizen  to  obey  the  laws  of  his  state.  And 
this  duty  is  so  strict  that  I  believe  the  only 
limits  to  it  are  those  fixed  by  Isaac  and 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  $7 

Iphigenia.  On  the  other  hand,  the  father 
and  mother  have  also  a  fixed  duty  to  the 
child — not  to  provoke  it  to  wrath.  I  have 
never  heard  this  text  explained  to  fathers 
and  mothers  from  the  pulpit,  which  is  curi- 
ous. For  it  appears  to  me  that  God  will 
expect  the  parents  to  understand  their  duty 
to  their  children,  better  even  than  children 
can  be  expected  to  know  their  duty  to  their 
parents. 

But  farther.  A  child's  duty  is  to  obey  its 
parents.  It  is  never  said  anywhere  in  the 
Bible,  and  never  was  yet  said  in  any  good 
or  wise  book,  that  a  man's,  or  woman's  is. 
When,  precisely,  a  child  becomes  a  man  or  a 
woman,  it  can  no  more  be  said,  than 
when  it  should  first  stand  on  its  legs.  But 
a  time  assuredly  comes  when  it  should. 
In  great  states,  children  are  always  trying 
to  remain  children,  and  the  parents  want- 
ing to  make  men  and  women  of  them.  In 
vile  states,  the  children  are  always  wanting 
to  be  men  and  women,  and  the  parents  to 
keep  them  children.  It  may  be — and  happy 
the  house  in  which  it  is  so — that  the  father's 
at  least  equal  intellect,  and  older  experience, 
may  remain  to  the  end  of  his  life  a  lave  to 


$1  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Ids  children,  not  of  force,  but  of  perfect 
guidance,  with  perfect  love.  Rarely  it  is  so ; 
not  often  possible.  It  is  as  natural  for  the 
old  to  be  prejudiced  as  for  the  young  to  be 
presumptuous;  and,  in  the  change  of  cen- 
turies, each  generation  has  something  tc 
judge  of  for  itself. 

But  this  scene,  on  which  Giotto  has  dwel% 
with  so  great  force,  represents,  not  tbio 
child's  assertion  of  his  independence,  but 
his  adoption  of  another  Father. 

You  must  not  confuse  the  desire  of  this 
boy  of  Assisi  to  obey  God  rather  than  man, 
with  the  desire  of  your  young  cockney  hope- 
f ul  to  have  a  latch-key,  and  a  separate  allow-, 
ance. 

No  point  of  duty  has  been  more  miserably 
warped  and  perverted  by  false  priests,  in  all 
churches,  than  this  duty  of  the  young  to 
choose  whom  they  will  serve.  But  the  duty 
itself  does  not  the  less  exist ;  and  if  there  be 
any  truth  in  Christianity  at  all,  there  will 
come,  for  all  true  disciples,  a  time  when 
they  have  to  take  that  saying  to  heart,  "  H« 
that  loveth  father  or  mother'  more  than  M^ 
is  not  worthy  of  Me.' ' 
>  *'  Loveth  " — observe.    There  is  no  talk  oC 


MOBXINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  89 

^obeying  fathers  or  mothers  whom  you  d« 
not  love,  or  of  running  away  from  a  home 
where  you  would  rather  not  stay.  But  to 
leave  the  home  which  is  your  peace,  and  to 
be  at  enmity  with  those  who  are  most  dear 
to  you, — this,  if  there  be  meaning  in  Christ's 
words,  one  day  or  other  will  be  demanded 
of  His  true  followers. 

And  there  is  meaning  in  Christ's  words. 
Whatever  misuse  may  have  been  made 
of  them, — whatever  false  prophets — and 
Heaven  knows  there  have  been  many — have 
called  the  young  children  to  them,  not  to 
bless,  but  to  curse,  the  assured  fact  remains 
that  if  you  will  obey  God,  there  will  come  a 
moment  when  the  voice  of  man  will  be  raised, 
with  all  its  holiest  natural  authority,  against 
you.  The  friend  and  the  wise  adviser — the 
brother  and  the  sister — the  father  and  the 
master — the  entire  voice  of  your  prudent 
and  keen-sighted  acquaintance — the  entire 
weight  of  the  scornful  stupidity  of  the  vul- 
gar world — for  once,  they  will  be  againsi 
you,  all  at  one.  You  have  to  obey  God 
rather  than  man.  The  human  race,  with 
•11  its  wisdom  and  love,  aU  its  indignation 


90  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

and  folly,  on  one  side, — God  alone  on  the 
other.    You  have  to  choose. 

That  is  the  meaning  of  St.  Francis's  re- 
nouncing his  inheritance ;  and  it  is  the  begin- 
ning of  Giotto's  gospel  of  Works.  Unless 
this  hardest  of  deeds  be  done  first, — this  in- 
heritance of  mammon  and  the  world  cast 
away, — all  other  deeds  are  useless.  You 
cannot  serve,  cannot  obey,  God  and  mam- 
mon. No  charities,  no  obediences,  no  self- 
denials,  are  of  any  use,  while  you  are  still 
at  heart  in  conformity  with  the  world.  You 
go  to  church,  because  the  world  goes.  You 
keep  Sunday,  because  your  neighbors  keep 
it.  But  you  dress  ridiculously,  because 
your  neighbors  ask  it ;  and  you  dare  not  do 
a  rough  piece  of  work,  because  your  neigh- 
bors despise  it.  You  must  renounce  your 
neighbor,  in  his  riches  and  pride,  and  re- 
member him  in  his  distress.  That  is  St. 
Francis's  "  disobedience." 

And  now  you  can  understand  the  rela- 
tion of  subjects  throughout  the  chapel,  and 
Giotto's  choice  of  them. 

The  roof  has  the  symbols  of  the  three 
virtues  of  labor — Poverty,  Chastity,  Obedi- 
ence. 


hORNINGS  Iir  FLOEENCE.  91 

A.  Highest  on  the  left  side,  looking  to  the 
window.  The  life  of  St.  Francis  begins  in 
his  renunciation  of  the  world. 

B.  Highest  on  the  right  side.  His  new 
life  is  approved  and  ordained  by  the  author* 
ity  of  the  church. 

C.  Central  on  the  left  side.  He  preaches 
to  his  own  disciples. 

D.  Central  on  the  right  side.  He  preaches 
to  the  heathen. 

E.  Lowest  on  the  left  side.    His  burial. 

F.  Lowest  on  the  right  side.  His  power 
after  death. 

Besides  these  six  subjects,  there  are,  on 
the  sides  of  the  window,  the  four  great  Fran- 
ciscan saints,  St.  Louis  of  France,  St.  Louis 
of  Toulouse,  St.  Clare,  and  St.  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary. 

So  that  you  have  in  the  whole  series  this 
much  given  you  to  thinlc  of :  first,  the  la\r 
of  St.  Francis's  conscience ;  then,  his  own 
adoption  of  it;  then,  the  ratification  of  it 
by  the  Christian  Church ;  then,  his  preach- 
ing it  in  life ;  then,  his  preaching  it  in  death ; 
and  then,  the  first  of  it  in  his  disciples. 

I  have  only  been  able  myselt  to  examine, 
or  in  any  right  sense  to  see,  of  this  code  ot 


92  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

subjects,  the  first,  second,  fourth,  and  th« 
St.  Louis  and  Elizabeth.  I  will  ask  you 
only  to  look  at  two  more  of  them,  namely, 
St.  Francis  before  the  Soldan,  midmost  on 
your  right,  and  St.  Louis. 

The  Soldan,  with  an  ordinary  opera-glass, 
you  may  see  clearly  enough ;  and  I  think  it 
will  be  first  well  to  notice  some  technical 
points  in  it. 

If  the  little  virgin  on  the  stairs  of  the 
temple  reminded  you  of  one  composition  of 
Titian's,  this  Soldan  should,  I  think,  remmd 
you  of  all  that  is  greatest  in  Titian ;  so  for- 
cibly, indeed,  that  for  my  own  part,  if  I  had 
l)een  told  that  a  careful  early  fresco  by 
Titian  had  been  recovered  in  Santa  Croce,  I 
could  have  believed  both  report  and  my  own 
eyes,  more  quickly  than  I  have  been  able  to 
admit  that  this  is  indeed  by  Giotto.  It  is 
so  great  that — had  its  principles  been  un- 
derstood— there  was  in  reality  nothing  mor& 
to  be  taught  of  art  in  Italy ;  nothing  to  be 
invented  afterwards,  except  Dutch  effects 
of  fight. 

That  there  is  no  "  effect  of  light,"  here 
arrived  at,  I  beg  you  at  once  to  observe  as 
a  most  important  lesson.    The  subject  is 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  93 

St.  Francis  challenging  the  Soldan's  Magi,^. 
fire- worshipers — to  pass  with  him  through 
the  fire,  which  is  blazing  red  at  his  feet.  It 
is  so  hot  that  the  two  Magi  on  the  other 
side  of  the  throne  shield  their  faces.  But  it 
is  represented  simply  as  a  red  mass  of 
writhing  forms  of  flame ;  and  casts  no  fire- 
light whatever.  There  is  no  ruby  color 
on  anybody's  nose ;  there  are  no  black  shad- 
ows under  anybody's  chin;  there  are  no 
Kembrandtesque  gradations  of  gloom,  or 
glitterings  of  sword-hilt  and  armor. 

Is  this  ignorance,  think  you,  in  Giotto, 
and  pure  artlessness  ?  He  was  now  a  man 
in  middle  life,  having  passed  all  his  days  in 
painting,  and  professedly,  and  almost  con- 
tentiously,  painting  things  as  he  saw  them. 
Do  you  suppose  he  never  saw  fire  cast  fire- 
light ? — and  he  the  friend  of  Dante !  who  of 
all  poets  is  the  most  subtle  in  his  sense  of 
every  kind  of  effect  of  light — though  he  has 
been  thought  by  the  public  to  know  that  of 
fire  only.  Again  and  again,  his  ghosts  won* 
der  that  there  is  no  shadow  cast  by  Dante's 
body ;  and  is  the  poet's  friend,  because  a 
painter,  likely,  therefore,  not  to  have  known 
that  mortal  substance  casts  shadow,  and  ter- 


94  MORNmGS  IN  FLOBENCE, 

restrial  flame,  light  ?  Kay,  the  passage  in 
the  "  Purgatorio  "  where  the  shadows  from 
the  morning  sunshine  make  the  flames 
redder,  reaches  the  accuracy  of  Newtonian 
science;  and  does  Giotto,  think  you,  all 
the  while,  see  nothing  of  the  sort  ? 

The  fact  was,  he  saw  light  so  intensely 
«hat  he  never  for  an  instant  thought  of 
painting  it.  He  knew  that  to  paint  the  sun 
was  as  impossible  as  to  stop  it ;  and  he  was 
no  trickster,  trying  to  find  out  ways  of  seem- 
ing to  do  what  he  did  not.  I  can  paint  a  rose, 
— yes ;  and  I  will,  I  can't  paint  a  red-hot 
coal ;  and  I  won't  try  to,  nor  seem  to.  This 
was  just  as  natural  and  certain  a  process  of 
thinking  with  him,  as  the  honesty  of  it,  and 
true  science,  were  impossible  to  the  false 
painters  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

Kevertheless,  what  his  art  can  honestly  da 
to  make  you  feel  as  much  as  he  wants  you 
to  feel,  about  this  fire,  he  will  do;  and  that 
studiously.  That  the  fire  be  luminous  or  not, 
is  no  matter  just  now.  But  that  the  fire 
is  hot,  he  would  have  you  to  know.  Now, 
will  you  notice  what  colors  he  has  used  in 
the  whole  picture.  First,  the  blue  back- 
ground, necessary  to  unite  it  with  the  othet 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  95 

Ishree  subjects,  is  reduced  to  the  smallest 
possible  space.  St.  Francis  must  be  in  gray, 
for  that  is  his  dress ;  also  the  attendant  of 
one  of  the  Magi  is  in  gray ;  but  so  warm, 
that,  if  you  saw  it  by  itself,  you  would  call 
it  brown.  The  shadow  behind  the  throne, 
-which  Giotto  knows  he  can  paint,  and  there- 
fore  does,  is  gray  also.  The  rest  of  the  pict- 
ure *  in  at  least  six-sevenths  of  its  area — is 
either  crimson,  gold,  orange,  purple,  or  white, 
all  as  warm  as  Giotto  could  paint  them ;  and 
set  off  by  minute  spaces  only  of  intense  black, 
— the  Soldan's  fillet  at  the  shoulders,  his 
eyes,  beard,  and  the  points  necessary  in  the 
golden  pattern  behind.  And  the  whole  pict- 
ure is  one  glow. 

A  single  glance  round  at  the  other  subjects 
will  convince  you  of  the  special  character  in 
this ;  but  you  will  recognize  also  that  the 
four  upper  subjects,  in  which  St.  Francis's 
life  and  zeal  are  shown,  are  all  in  compara- 
tively warm  colors,  while  the  two  lower  ones 
— of  the  death,  and  the  visions  after  it — have 
been  kept  as  definitely  sad  and  cold. 

1  The  floor  has  been  repainted;  but  though  its  gray 
is  now  heavy  and  cold,  it  cannot  kill  the  splendor  ol 
the  rest* 


96  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Necessarily  you  might  think,  being  full  of 
monks'  dresses.  Not  so.  Was  there  any 
need  for  Giotto  to  have  put  the  priest  at  the 
foot  of  the  dead  body,  with  the  black  ban- 
ner stooped  over  it  in  the  shape  of  a  grave? 
Might  he  not,  had  he  chosen,  in  either  fresco, 
have  made  the  celestial  visions  brighter? 
Might  not  St.  Francis  have  appeared  in  the 
center  of  a  celestial  glory  to  the  dream- 
ing Pope,  or  his  soul  been  seen  of  the  poor 
monk,  rising  through  more  radiant  clouds? 
Look,  however,  how  radiant,  in  the  small 
space  allowed  out  of  the  blue,  they  are  in 
rtahty.  You  cannot  anywhere  see  a  lovelier 
piece  of  Giottesque  color,  though  here,  you 
have  to  mourn  over  the  smallness  of  the  piece, 
and  its  isolation.  For  the  face  of  St.  Francis 
himself  is  repainted,  and  all  the  blue  sky ; 
but  the  clouds  and  four  sustaining  angels 
are  hardly  retouched  at  all,  and  their  irides- 
cent and  exquisitely  graceful  wings  are  left 
with  really  very  tender  and  delicate  care  by 
the  restorer  of  the  sky.  And  no  one  but 
Giotto  or  Turner  could  hare  painted  them. 

For  in  all  his  use  of  opalescent  and  warm 
«olor,  Giotto  is  exactly  like  Turner,  as,  in 
^  swift  expressioual  power,  he  is  like  Gains- 


ORNINGS  liV  FLOBENCE.  97 

borough.  All  the  other  Italian  religious 
painters  work  out  their  expression  with 
toil ;  he  only  can  give  it  with  a  touch.  All 
the  other  great  Italian  colorists  see  only 
the  beauty  of  color,  but  Giotto  also  its  bright- 
ness. And  none  of  the  others,  except  Tin- 
toret,  understood  to  the  full  its  symbolio 
power ;  but  with  those — Giotto  and  Tintoret 
— there  is  always,  not  only  a  color  har- 
mony,  but  a  color  secret.  It  is  not  merely 
to  make  the  picture  glow,  but  to  remind 
you  that  St.  Francis  preaches  to  a  fire- wor- 
shiping king,  that  Giotto  covers  the  wall 
with  purple  and  scarlet ; — and  above,  in  the 
dispute  at  Assisi,  the  angry  father  is  dressed 
in  red,  varying  like  passion  ;  and  the  robe 
with  which  his  protector  embraces  St.  Fran- 
cis, blue,  symbolizing  the  peace  of  Heaven. 
Of  course  certain  conventional  colors  were 
traditionally  employed  by  all  painters  ;  but 
only  Giotto  and  Tintoret  invent  a  symbolism 
of  their  own  for  every  picture.  Thus  in 
Tintoret's  picture  of  the  fall  of  the  manna, 
the  figure  of  God  the  Father  is  entirely 
robed  in  white,  contrary  to  all  received  cus- 
tom :  in  that  of  Moses  striking  the  rock,  it 
is  surrounded  by  a  rainbow.    Of  Giotto'a 


98  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

symbolism  in  color  at  Assisi,  I  have  given 
account  elsewhere.* 

You  are  not  to  think,  therefore,  the  dif. 
ference  between  the  color  of  the  upper  and 
lower  frescos  unintentional.  The  life  of  St. 
Francis  was  always  full  of  joy  and  triumph. 
His  death,  in  great  suffering,  weariness,  and 
extreme  humility.  The  tradition  of  him 
reverses  that  of  Elijah ;  living,  he  is  seen  in 
the  chariot  of  fire;  dying,  he  submits  to 
more  than  the  common  sorrow  of  death. 

There  is,  however,  much  more  than  a  dif- 
ference in  color  between  the  upper  and 
lower  frescos.  There  is  a  difference  in  man- 
ner which  I  cannot  account  for ;  and  above 
all,  a  very  singular  difference  in  skill, — in- 
dicating, it  seems  to  me,  that  the  two  lower 
were  done  long  before  the  others,  and  after- 
wards united  and  harmonized  with  them. 
It  is  of  no  interest  to  the  general  reader  to 
pursue  this  question ;  but  one  point  he  can 
notice  quickly,  that  the  lower  frescos  de- 
pend much  on  a  mere  black  or  brown  out- 
line of  the  features,  while  the  faces  above 
are  evenly  and  completely  painted  in  tho 

s  Fors  Clavigera,  for  September,  1874.] 


MORNI'P^GS  US  FLOEENCK  99 

most  accomplished  Venetian  manner : — and 
another,  respecting  the  management  of  the 
draperies,  contains  much  interest  for  us. 

Giotto  never  succeeded,  to  the  very  end 
of  his  days,  in  representing  a  figure  lying 
down,  and  at  ease.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
curious  points  in  all  his  character.  Just 
the  thing  which  he  could  study  from  nature 
"without  the  smallest  hindrance,  is  the  thing 
he  never  can  paint ;  while  subtleties  of  form 
and  gesture,  which  depend  absolutely  on 
their  momentariness,  and  actions  in  which 
no  model  can  stay  for  an  instant,  he  seizes 
with  infallible  accuracy. 

Not  only  has  the  sleeping  Pope,  in  the 
right  hand  lower  fresco,  his  head  laid  un- 
comfortably on  his  pillow,  but  all  the  clothes 
on  him  are  in  awkward  angles,  even  Giotto's 
instinct  for  lines  of  drapery  failing  him 
altogether  when  he  has  to  lay  it  on  a  re- 
posing figure.  But  look  at  the  folds  of  the 
Soldan's  robe  over  his  knees.  None  could 
be  more  beautiful  or  right ;  and  it  is  to  me 
wholly  inconceivable  that  the  two  paintings 
should  be  within  even  twenty  years  of  each 
other  in  date — the  skill  in  the  upper  one  is 
60  supremely  greater.    We  shall  find,  how- 


100  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

ever,  more  than  mere  truth  in  its  cacts  of 
drapery,  if  we  examine  them. 

They  are  so  simply  right,  in  the  figure  of 
the  Soldan,  that  we  do  not  think  of  them ; 
— we  see  him  only,  not  his  dress.  But  we 
see  dress  first,  in  the  figures  of  the  discom- 
fited Magi.  Very  fully  draped  personages 
these,  indeed, — with  trains,  it  appears,  four 
yards  long,  and  bearers  of  them. 

The  one  nearest  the  Soldan  has  done  his 
devoir  as  bravely  as  he  could ;  would  fain 
go  up  to  the  fire,  but  cannot;  is  forced 
to  shield  his  face,  though  he  has  not  turned 
back.  Giotto  gives  him  full  sweeping 
breadth  of  fold ;  what  dignity  he  can  ; — a 
man  faithful  to  his  profession,  at  all  events. 

The  next  one  has  no  such  courage.  Col- 
lapsed altogether,  he  has  nothing  more  to 
say  for  himself  or  his  creed.  Giotto  hangs 
the  cloak  upon  him,  in  Ghirlandajo's  fashion, 
as  from  a  peg,  but  with  ludicrous  narrow- 
ness of  fold.  Literally,  he  is  a  "  shut-up  " 
Magus — closed  like  a  fan.  He  turns  his 
head  away,  hopelessly.  And  the  last  Ma* 
gus  shows  nothing  but  his  back,  disappear- 
ing through  the  door. 

Opposed  to  them,  in  a  modern  work,  you 


MORHriNGS  /2V  FLORENCE,  101 

would  have  had  a  St.  Francis  standing  as 
high  as  he  could  in  his  sandals,  contemptu- 
ous, denunciatory;  magnificently  showing 
the  Magi  the  door.  No  such  thing,  says 
Giotto.  A  somewhat  mean  man;  disap- 
pointing enough  in  presence — even  in  feat- 
ture;  I  do  not  understand  his  gesture, 
pointing  to  his  forehead — perhaps  meaning-, 
"my  life,  or  my  head,  upon  the  truth  of 
this."  The  attendant  monk  behind  him  is 
terror-struck ;  but  will  follow  his  master* 
The  dark  Moorish  servants  of  the  Magi 
ghow  no  emotion— will  arrange  their  mas- 
ters' trains  as  usual,  and  decorously  sustain 
their  retreat. 

Lastly,  for  the  Soldan  himself.  In  a 
modern  work,  you  would  assuredly  have 
had  him  staring  at  St,  Francis  with  his  eye- 
brows up,  or  frowning  thunderously  at  his 
Magi,  with  them  bent  as  far  down  as  they 
would  go.  Neither  of  these  aspects  does  ha 
bear,  according  to  Giotto.  A  perfect  gentle- 
man and  king,  he  looks  on  his  Magi  with 
quiet  eyes  of  decision ;  he  is  much  the  no- 
blest person  in  the  room — though  an  infidel, 
the  true  hero  of  the  scene,  far  more  than  St» 
Francis.    It  is  evidently  the  Soldan  whom 


102  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Giotto  wants  you  to  think  of  mainly,  in  thii 
picture  of  Christian  missionary  work. 

He  does  not  altogether  take  the  view  of  the 
Heathen  which  you  would  get  in  an  Exeter 
Hall  meeting.  Does  not  expatiate  on  their 
ignorance,  their  blackness,  or  their  naked- 
ness. Does  not  at  all  think  of  the  Florentine 
Islington  and  Pentonville,  as  inhabited  by 
persons  in  every  respect  superior  to  the 
kings  of  the  East ;  nor  does  he  imagine  every 
other  religion  but  his  own  to  be  log- worship. 
Probably  the  people  who  really  worship 
logs — whether  ui  Persia  or  Pentonville — 
will  be  left  to  worship  logs  to  their  hearts' 
content,  thinks  Giotto.  But  to  those  who 
worship  God,  and  who  have  obeyed  the  laws 
of  heaven  written  in  their  hearts,  and  num. 
bered  the  stars  of  it  visible  to  them, — to 
these,  a  nearer  star  may  rise;  and  a  higher 
God  be  revealed. 

You  are  to  note,  therefore,  that  Criotto's 
Soldan  is  the  type  of  all  noblest  religion 
and  law,  in  countries  where  the  name  of 
Christ  has  not  been  preached.  There  was 
no  doubt  what  king  or  people  should  be 
chosen :  the  country  of  the  three  Magi  had 
already  been  indicated  by  the  miracle  of 


MORNINGS  IN*FLCRENCE,         103 

Bethlehem ;  and  the  religion  and  morality 
of  Zoroaster  were  the  purest,  and  in  spirit 
the  oldest,  in  the  heathen  world.  There- 
fore, when  Dante,  in  the  nineteenth  and 
twentieth  books  of  the  Paradise,  gives  his 
final  interpretation  of  the  law  of  human  and 
divine  justice  in  relation  to  the  gospel  of 
Christ — the  lower  and  enslaved  body  of  the 
heathen  being  represented  by  St.  Philip's 
convert,  ("  Christians  like  these  the  Ethiop 
shall  condemn," — the  noblest  state  of  heath- 
enism is  at  once  chosen,  as  by  Giotto: 
"What  may  the  Persians  say  unto  your 
kings  ?  "    Compare  also  Milton, — 

**  At  the  Soldan's  chair, 
Defied  the  best  of  Paynim  chivalry." 

And  now,  the  time  is  come  for  you  to 
look  at  Giotto's  St.  Louis,  who  is  the  type 
of  a  Christian  king. 

You  would,  I  suppose,  never  have  seen  it 
at  all,  unless  I  had  dragged  you  here  on 
purpose.  It  was  enough  in  the  dark  origi- 
nally— is  trebly  darkened  by  the  modern 
painted  glass — and  dismissed  to  its  oblivion 
contentedly  by  Mr.  Murray's  "  Four  saints, 
all    much    restored    and    repainted,"  and 


i04         MORNINGS  ^N  FLORENCE. 

Messrs.   Crowe  and   Cavalcasella's   serena 
«*  The  St.  Louis  is  quite  new." 

Now,  I  am  the  last  person  to  call  any 
restoration  whatever,  judicious.  Of  aU 
destructive  manias,  that  of  restoration  is  the 
IrightfuUest  and  foolishest.  Nevertheless, 
what  good,  in  its  miserable  way,  it  can  bring 
the  poor  art  scholar  must  now  apply  his 
common  sense  to  take  ;  there  is  no  use,  be- 
cause a  great  work  has  been  restored,  in 
now  passing  it  by  altogether,  not  even  look- 
icg  for  what  instruction  we  still  may  find 
In  its  design,  which  will  be  more  intelligible, 
if  the  restorer  has  had  any  conscience  at  all, 
to  the  ordinary  spectator,  than  it  would 
have  been  in  the  faded  w  ork.  When,  indeed, 
Mr.  Murray's  Guide  tells  you  that  a  building 
has  been  "  magnificently  restored,"  you  may 
pass  the  building  by  in  resigned  despair; 
for  that  means  that  every  bit  of  the  old 
sculpture  has  been  destroyed,  and  modern 
vulgar  copies  put  up  in  its  place.  But  a 
restored  picture  or  fresco  will  often  be,  to 
t/ow,  more  useful  than  a  pure  one ;  and  in  all 
probability — if  an  important  piece  of  art — 
it  will  have  been  spared  in  many  placea 
cautiously  completed  in  others,  and  still  aa» 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  105 

lert  itself  in  a  mysterious  way — as  Leon- 
ardo's Cenacolo  does — through  every  phase 
of  reproduction.  ^ 

1  For  a  test  of  your  feeling  in  the  matter,  having 
looked  well  at  these  two  lower  frescos  in  this  chapel, 
walk  around  into  the  next,  and  examine  the  lower 
one  on  your  left  hand  as  you  enter  that.  You  will 
find  in  your  Murray  that  the  frescos  in  this  chapel 
*'  were  also  till  lately  (1862)  covered  with  whitewash;" 
out  I  happened  to  have  a  long  critique  of  this  par- 
ticular picture  written  in  the  year  1845,  and  I  see  no 
change  in  it  since  then.  Mr.  Murray's  critic  also  tells 
you  to  observe  in  it  that  "  the  daughter  of  Herodias 
playing  on  a  violin  is  not  unlike  Perugino's  treatment 
of  similar  subjects."  By  which  Mr.  Murray's  critic 
means  that  the  male  musician  playing  on  a  violin, 
whom,  without  looking  either  at  his  dress,  or  at  the 
rest  of  the  fresco,  he  took  for  the  daughter  of  Hero* 
dias,  has  a  broad  face.  Allowing  you  the  full  bene- 
fit of  this  criticism — there  is  still  a  point  or  two  more 
to  be  observed.  This  is  the  only  fresco  near  the 
ground  in  which  Giotto's  work  is  untouched,  at  least, 
by  the  modern  restorer.  So  felicitously  safe  it  is,  that 
you  may  learn  from  it  at  once  and  forever,  what  good 
fresco  painting  is— how  quiet — how  delicately  clear- 
how  little  coarsely  or  vulgarly  attractive — ^how  capa- 
ble of  the  most  tender  light  and  shade,  and  of  the  most 
exquisite  and  enduring  color. 

In  this  latter  respect,this  fresco  stands  almost  alone 
among  the  works  of  Giotto;  the  striped  curtain  h«f 
«iind  the  table  being  wrought  with  a  variety  and  £aa 


106         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

But  I  can  assure  you,  in  the  first  place,  that 
St.  Louis  is  by  no  means  altogether  new.  I 
have  been  up  at  it,  and  found  most  lovely  and 
true  color  left  in  many  parts:  the  crown, 
which  you  will  find,  after  our  mornings  at  the 
Spanish  chapel,  is  of  importance,  nearly  "un- 
touched ;  the  lines  of  the  features  and  hair, 
though  all  more  or  less  reproduced,  still  of 
definite  and  notable  character ;  and  the  junc- 
tion throughout  of  added  color  so  careful, 
that  the  harmony  of  the  whole,  if  not  deli- 
cate with  its  old  tenderness,  is  at  least,  in  its 
coarser  way,  solemn  and  unbroken.    Such 

tasy  of  playing  color  which  Paul  Veronese  could  not 
better  at  his  best. 

You  will  find  without  difficulty,  in  spite  of  the  faint 
tints,  the  daughter  of  Herodias  in  the  middle  of  the 
picture — slowly  moving^  not  dancing,  to  the  violin 
music — she  herself  playing  on  a  lyre.  In  the  farther 
comer  of  the  picture,  she  gives  St.  John's  head  to  her 
mother;  the  face  of  Herodias  is  almost  entirely  faded^ 
which  may  be  a  farther  guarantee  to  you  of  the  safety 
of  the  rest.  The  subject  of  the  Apocalypse,  highest 
on  the  right,  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  mythic 
pictures  in  Florence;  nor  do  I  know  any  other  so 
completely  rendering  the  meaning  of  the  scene  be- 
tween the  woman  in  the  wilderness,  and  the  Dragon 
enemy.  But  it  caiJnot  be  seen  from  the  floor  level: 
and  I  have  no  power  of  showing  its  beauty  in  word*- 


MOBNINGS  I2V  FLORENCE.  107 

as  the  figure  remains,  it  still  possesses  ex- 
treme beauty — profoundest  interest.  And, 
a^s  you  can  see  it  from  below  with  your 
glass,  it  leaves  little  to  be  desired,  and  may 
be  dwelt  upon  with  more  profit  than  nine 
out  of  ten  of  the  renowned  pictures  of  the 
Tribune  or  the  Pitti.  You  will  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  it  better  if  I  first  translate  for 
you  a  little  piece  from  the  Fioretti  di  San 
Francesco. 

*'  How  St.  JjOuis,  King  of  France^  went 
personally ^  in  the  guise  of  a  pilgrim^  to  Pe- 
rugia  to  visit  the  holy  brother  Giles. — St. 
Louis,  King  of  France,  went  on  pilgrimage 
to  visit  the  sanctuaries  of  the  world ;  and 
hearing  the  most  great  fame  of  the  holiness 
of  Brother  Giles,  who  had  been  among  the 
first  companions  of  St.  Francis,  put  it  in  his 
heart,  and  determined  assuredly  that  he 
would  visit  him  personally;  wherefore  he 
came  to  Perugia,  where  was  then  staying 
the  said  brother.  And  coming  to  the  gate 
of  the  place  of  the  Brothers,  with  few  com- 
panions, and  being  unknown,  he  asked  with 
great  earnestness  for  Brother  Giles,  telling 
nothing  to  the  porter  who  he  was  that 
asked.      The    porter,    therefore,    goes    to 


X08  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Brother  Giles,  and  says  that  there  is  a  pU- 
grim  asking  for  him  at  the  gate.  And  by 
God  it  was  inspired  in  him  and  revealed 
that  it  was  the  King  of  France  ;  whereupon 
quickly  with  great  fervor  he  left  his  cell 
and  ran  to  the  gate,  and  without  any  ques- 
tion asked,  or  ever  having  seen  each  other 
before,  kneeling  down  together  with  great- 
est devotion,  they  embraced  and  kissed  each 
other  with  as  much  familiarity  as  if  for  a 
longtime  they  had  held  great  friendship; 
but  all  the  while  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  spoke,  but  stayed,  so  embraced,  with 
such  signs  of  charitable  love,  in  silence. 
And  so  having  remained  for  a  great  while, 
they  parted  from  one  another,  and  St.  Louis 
went  on  his  way,  and  Brother  Giles  re- 
turned to  his  cell.  And  the  King  being 
gone,  one  of  the  brethreft  asked  of  his  com- 
panion who  he  was,  who  answered  that 
he  was  the  King  of  France.  Of  which  the 
other  brothers  being  told,  were  in  the  great- 
est melancholy  because  Brother  Giles  had 
never  said  a  word  to  him  ;  and  murmuring 
at  it,  they  said,  "  Oh,  Brother  Giles,  where- 
for  hadst  thou  so  country  manners  that  to 
8o  holy  a  king,  who  had  coroe  from  France 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  109 

to  see  thee  and  hear  from  thee  some  good 
word,  thou  hast  spoken  nothing  ?  " 

"  Answered  Brother  Giles  :  '  Dearest 
brothers,  wonder  not  ye  at  this,  that  neither 
I  to  him,  nor  he  to  me,  could  speak  a  word ; 
for  so  soon  as  we  had  embraced,  the  light 
of  the  divine  wisdom  revealed  and  mani- 
fested, to  me,  hts  heart,  and  to  him,  mine; 
and  so  by  divine  operation  we  looked  each 
in  the  other's  heart  on  what  we  would  have 
,iiid  to  one  another,  and  knew  it  better  far 
^han  if  we  had  spoken  with  the  mouth,  and 
with  more  consolation,  because  of  the  defect 
of  the  human  tongue,  which  cannot  clearly 
express  the  secrets  of  God,  and  would  have 
been  for  discomfort  rather  than  comfort. 
And  know,  therefore,  that  the  King  parted 
from  me  marvelously  content,  and  com- 
forted in  his  mind.' " 

Of  all  which  story,  not  a  word,  of  course, 
is  credible  by  any  rational  person. 

Certainly  not :  the  spirit,  nevertheless, 
which  created  the  story,  is  an  entirely  in- 
disputable fact  in  the  history  of  Italy  and  of 
mankind.  Whether  St.  Louis  and  Brother 
Giles  ever  knelt  together  in  the  street  of 
Perugia  matters  not  a  whit.    That  a  king 


110  ifORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

and  a  poor  monk  could  be  conceived  to  haTO 
thoughts  of  each  other  which  no  words  coul^ 
speak  ;  and  that  indeed  the  King's  tender- 
ness and  humility  made  such  a  tale  credible 
to  the  people, — this  is  what  you  have  to 
meditate  on  here. 

Nor  is  there  any  better  spot  in  the  world, 
— ^whencesoever  your  pilgrim  feet  may  have 
Journeyed  to  it,  wherein  to  make  up  so  much 
mind  as  you  have  in  you  for  the  making, 
concerning  the  nature  of  Kinghood  and 
Princedom  generally ;  and  of  the  forgeries 
and  mockeries  of  both  which  are  too  often 
manifested  in  their  room.  For  it  happens 
that  this  Christian  and  this  Persian  King 
are  better  painted  here  by  Giotto  than  else- 
where by  any  one,  so  as  to  give  you  the  best 
attainable  conception  of  the  Christian  and 
Heathen  powers  which  have  both  received, 
in  the  book  which  Christians  profess  to  rev- 
erence, the  same  epithet  as  the  King  of  the 
Jews  Himself;  anointed,  or  Christos; — and 
as  the  most  perfect  Christian  Kinghood  was 
exhibited  in  the  life,  partly  real,  partly  tra- 
ditional, of  St.  Louis,  so  the  most  perfect 
Heathen  Kinghood  was  exemplified  in  tha 
life,  partly  real,  partly  traditional,  of  Cyrui 


MOBNINbs  m  FLOBENCE,  111 

0f  Persia,  and  in  the  laws  for  human  govern, 
ment  and  education  which  had  chief  force  in 
his  dynasty.  And  before  the  images  of 
these  two  Kings  I  think  therefore  it  will 
be  well  that  you  should  read  the  charge 
to  Cyrus,  written  by  Isaiah.  The  second 
clause  of  it,  if  not  all,  will  here  become 
memorable  to  you — literally  illustrating,  aa 
it  does,  the  very  manner  of  the  defeat  ot 
the  Zoroastrian  Magi,  on  which  Giotto  founds 
his  Triumph  of  Faith.  I  write  the  leading 
sentences  continuously ;  what  I  omit  is  only 
their  amplification,  which  you  can  easily 
refer  to  at  home.  (Isaiah  xliv.  24,  to  xlv. 
13.) 

"  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  thy  Redeemer,  and 
he  tliat  formed  thee  from  the  womb.  I  the 
Lord  that  maketh  all ;  that  stretcheth  forth 
the  heavens,  alone ;  that  spreadeth  abroad 
the  earth,  alone ;  that  turneth  wise  men  hack'* 
ward^  and  maketh  their  kiiowledge  foolish  / 
that  confirmeth  the  word  of  his  Servant^  and 
fxdfilleth  the  counsel  of  hie  messengers  :  that 
saith  of  Cyrus,  He  is  my  Shepherd,  and 
shall  perform  all  my  pleasure,  even  saying 
to  Jerusalem,  *  thou  shalt  be  built,'  and  to 
the  temple,  Hhy  foundation  shall  be  laid.' 


1 12         MORNINOS  IN  FLORENCE. 

«  Thus  saith  the  Lord  to  his  Christ ; — to 
Cyrus,  whose  right  hand  I  have  holden,  to 
subdue  nations  before  him,  and  I  will  loose 
the  loins  of  Kings. 

"I  will  go  before  thee,  and  make  the 
crooked  places  straight;  I  will  break  in 
pieces  the  gates  of  brass,  and  cut  in  sunder 
the  bars  of  iron ;  and  I  will  give  thee  the 
treasures  of  darkness,  and  hidden  riches  of 
secret  places,  that  thou  may  est  know  that  I 
the  Lord,  which  call  thee  by  thy  name,  am 
the  God  of  Israel. 

"  For  Jacob  my  servant's  sake,  and  Israel 
mine  elect,  I  have  even  called  thee  by  thy 
name ;  I  have  surnamed  thee,  though  thou 
'Tast  not  known  me. 

"I  am  the  Lord,  and  there  is  none  else; 
Aere  is  no  God  beside  me.  I  girded  thee, 
though  thou  hast  not  known  me.  That  they 
may  know,  from  the  rising  of  the  sun,  and 
from  the  west,  that  there  is  none  beside  me ; 
I  am  the  Lord  and  there  is  none  else.  I  form 
the  light,  and  create  darkness ;  I  make  peace, 
and  create  evil.  I  the  Lord  do  all  thes« 
things. 

« I  have  raised  him  up  in  Righteousness, 
And  will  direct  all  his  ways^  he  shall  build 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  US 

my  city,  and  let  go  my  captives,  not  for  prioa 
nor  reward,  saith  the  Lord  of  Nations." 

To  this  last  verse,  add  the  ordinance  of 
Cyrus  in  fulfilling  it,  that  you  may  under- 
stand what  is  meant  by  a  King's  bekig 
*' raised  up  in  Righteousness,"  and  notice, 
"With  respect  to  the  picture  under  which  you 
stand,  the  Persian  King's  thought  of  tho 
Jewish  temple. 

"  In  the  first  year  of  the  reign  of  Cyrus,* 
King  Cyrus  commanded  that  the  house  of 
the  Lord  at  Jerusalem  should  be  built  again, 
where  they  do  servicexoith  perpetual  fire  ;  (the 
italicized  sentence  is  Darius's,  quoting  Cy» 
rus's  decree — the  decree  itself  worded  thus). 
Thus  saith  Cyrus,  King  of  Persia ;  ^  Tha 
Lord  God  of  heaven  hath  given  me  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  earth,  and  he  hath  charged 
me  to  build  him  an  house  at  Jerusalem. 

"  Who  is  there  among  you  of  all  his  peo- 
ple ? — his  God  be  with  him,  and  let  him  go 
up  to  Jerusalem  which  is  in  Judah,  and  let 
the  men  of  his  place  help  him  with  silver 
and  with  gold,  and  with  goods  and  with 
beasts." 

1  1st  Esdras  vi.  24. 

3  Ezra  i.  3,  and  2d  Esdras  ii.  S. 


114  MORKINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Between  which  "  bringing  the  prisoners  out 
of  captivity  "  and  modern  liberty,  free  trade, 
and  anti-slavery  eloquence,  there  is  no  small 
interval. 

To  these  two  ideals  of  Kinghood,  then,  the 
boy  has  reached,  since  the  day  he  was  draw- 
ing the  lamb  on  the  stone,  as  Cimabue  passed 
by.  You  will  not  find  two  other  such,  that 
I  know  of,  in  the  west  of  Europe ;  and  yet 
there  has  been  many  a  try  at  the  painting  of 
crowned  heads, — and  King  George  III.  and 
Queen  Charlotte,  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
are  very  fine,  no  doubt.  Also  your  black- 
muzzled  kings  of  Velasquez,  and  Vandyke's 
long-haired  and  white-handed  ones;  and 
Kubens'  riders — in  those  handsome  boots. 
Pass  such  shadows  of  them  as  you  can  sum- 
mon, rapidly  before  your  memory — then  look 
at  this  St.  Louis. 

His  face — gentle,  resolute,  glacial-pure, 
thin-cheeked ;  so  sharp  at  the  chin  that  the 
entire  head  is  almost  of  the  form  of  a  knight's 
shield — the  hair  short  on  the  forehead,  fall- 
ing on  each  side  in  the  old  Greek-Etruscan 
curves  of  simplest  line,  to  the  neck;  I  don't 
know  if  you  can  see  without  being  nearer, 
tha  difference  in  the  arrangement  of  it  on 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  life 

the  two  sides — the  mass  of  it  on  the  right 
shoulder  bending  inwards,  while  that  on  the 
left  falls  straight.  It  is  one  of  the  pretty 
changes  which  a  modern  workman  would 
never  dream  of — and  which  assures  me 
the  restorer  has  followed  the  old  Unes 
rightly. 

He  wears  a  crown  formed  by  aii  hexagonal 
pyramid,  beaded  with  pearls  on  the  edges : 
and  walled  round,  above  the  brow,  with  a 
Vertical  fortress-parapet,  as  it  were,  rising 
into  sharp  pointed  spines  at  the  angles :  it 
is  chasing  of  gold  with  pearl — beautiful  in 
the  remaining  work  of  it ;  the  Soldan  wears 
a  crown  of  the  same  general  form ;  the  hex- 
agonal outline  signifying  all  order,  strength 
and  royal  economy.  We  shall  see  farther 
symbolism  of  this  kind,  soon,  by  Simon 
Memmi,  in  the  Spanish  chapel. 

I  cannot  tell  you  anything  definite  of  the 
two  other  frescos — for  I  can  only  examine 
one  or  two  pictures  in  a  day ;  and  never 
begin  with  one  till  I  have  done  with  another; 
and  I  had  to  leave  Florence  without  looking 
at  these — even  so  far  as  to  be  quite  sure  of 
their  subjects.  The  central  one  on  the  left 
is  either  the  twelfth  subject  of  Assisi — St, 


116         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Francis  in  Ecstasy ;  *  or  the  eighteenth,  tne 
Apparition  of  St.  Francis  at  Aries ;  *  while 
the  lowest  on  the  right  may  admit  choice 
between  two  subjects  in  each  half  of  it :  my 
own  reading  of  them  would  be — that  they 
are  the  twenty-first  and  twenty-fifth  Sub- 
jects of  Assisi,  the  Dying  Friar  ^  and  Vision 
of  Pope  Gregory  IX ;  but  Crowe  and  Caval- 
casella  may  be  right  in  their  different  inter- 
pretation; *  in  any  case,  the  meaning  of  the 
entire  system  of  work  remains  unchanged, 
as  I  have  given  it  above. 

*  "  Represented  "  (next  to  St.  Francis  before  the 
Soldan,  at  Assisi)  "  as  seen  one  night  by  the  bretliren, 
praying,  elevated  from  the  ground,his  hands  extendeii 
like  the  cross,  and  surrounded  by  a  shining  cloud,"* 
— iorcZ  Lindsay, 

2  "St.  Antliony  of  Padua  was  preaching  at  a  gen- 
eral chapter  of  the  order,  held  at  Aries,  in  1224, when 
St.  Francis  appeared  in  the  midst,  his  a?ms  extended 
and  in  an  attitude  of  benediction." — Lord  Lindsay, 

*  *'  A  brother  of  the  order,  lying  on  his  deathbed, 
saw  the  spirit  of  St.  Francis  rising  to  heaven,  and 
springing  forward  cried,  *  Tarry,  Father,  I  come  with 
thee!*  and  fell  back  dead." — Lord  Lindsay, 

*  "  He  hesitated,  before  canonizing  St.  Francis} 
doubting  the  celestial  infliction  of  the  stigmata.  St* 
Francis  appeared  to  him  in  a  vision,  and  with  a  severt 
C0uateiui&C6  reproving  his  unbelief,  opened  his  robe^ 


MOBHINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  117 

amd,  exposing  the  wound  in  his  side,  filled  a  vial  with 
the  blood  that  flowed  from  it,  and  gave  it  to  the  Pope, 
Who  awoke  and  found  it  in  his  hand." — Lord  Lind" 
say. 

fi  "  As  St.  Francis  was  carried  on  his  bed  of  sick- 
ness to  St.  Maria  degli  Angeli,  he  stopped  at  an  hos- 
pital on  the  roadside,  and  ordering  his  attendants  to 
turn  his  head  in  the  direction  of  Assisi,  he  rose  in  his 
litter  and  said,  *  Blessed  be  thou  amongst  cities  I  may 
the  blessing  of  God  cling  to  thee,  oh  holy  place,  for 
by  thee  shall  many  souls  be  saved ;  *  and,  having  said 
this,  he  lay  down  and  was  carried  on  to  St.  Maria 
degli  Angeli.  On  the  evening  of  the  4th  of  October 
tis  death  was  revealed  at  the  very  hour  to  the  bishop 
Of  Assisi  ou  Mount  garzaua."«-'CVou}e  and  GavaJb* 


118         MOENLNGS  IN  FLOEMNCA 


THE  FOURTH  MORNING, 

THB  VAULTED  BOOK. 

As  early  as  may  be  this  morning,  let  Oft 
look  for  a  minute  or  two  into  the  cathe- 
dral :^I  was  going  to  say,  entering  by  one 
of  the  side  doors  of  the  aisles; — but  we 
can't  do  anything  else,  which  perhaps  might 
not  strike  you  imless  you  were  thinking 
specially  of  it.  There  are  no  transept  doors  ; 
and  one  never  wanders  round  to  the  deso- 
late front. 

From  either  of  the  side  doors,  a  few  paces 
will  bring  you  to  the  middle  of  the  nave> 
and  to  the  point  opposite  the  middle  of 
the  third  arch  from  the  west  end;  where 
you  will  find  yourself — if  well  in  the  mid- 
nave — standing  on  a  circular  slab  of  green 
porphyry,  which  marks  the  former  placd 
of  the  grave  of  the  bishop  Zenobius.  The 
larger  inscription,  on  the  wide  circle  of  th% 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE.  119 

floor  outside  of  you,  records  the  translation 
of  his  body  ;  the  smaller  one  round  the 
«tone  at  your  feet — "  quiescimus,  domum 
banc  quum  adimus  ultimam  " — is  a  painful 
truth,  I  suppose,  to  travelers  like  us,  who 
never  rest  anywhere  now,  if  we  can  help  it. 

Resting  here,  at  any  rate,  for  a  few  min- 
utes, look  up  to  the  whitewashed  vaulting 
of  the  compartment  of  the  roof  next  the 
west  end. 

You  will  see  nothing  whatever  m  it 
worth  looking  at.  Nevertheless,  look  a  lit- 
tle longer. 

But  the  longer  you  look,  the  less  you  will 
tmderstand  why  I  tell  you  to  look.  It  is 
nothing  but  a  whitewashed  ceiling :  vaulted 
indeed, — but  so  is  many  a  tailor's  garret 
window,  for  that  matter.  Indeed,  now  that 
you  have  looked  steadily  for  a  minute  or 
so,  and  are  used  to  the  f®rm  of  the  arch,  it 
seems  to  become  so  small  that  you  can  al- 
most fancy  it  the  ceiling  of  a  good-sized 
lumber-room  in  an  attic. 

Having  attained  to  this  modest  concep* 
tion  of  it,  carry  your  eyes  back  to  the  simi- 
lar vault  of  the  second  compartment,  nearer 
you.    Very  little  further  contemplation  will 


120  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

reduce  that  also  to  the  similitude  of  a  mod* 
erately-sized  attic.  And  then,  resolving  ta 
bear,  if  possible — for  it  is  worth  while,— 
the  cramp  in  your  neck  for  another  quarter 
of  a  minute,  look  right  up  to  the  third 
vault,  over  your  head ;  which,  if  not,  in  the 
said  quarter  of  a  minute,  reducible  in  im- 
agiaation  to  a  tailor's  garret,  will  at  least 
sink,  like  the  two  others,  into  the  sem- 
blance of  a  common  arched  ceiling,  of  no 
serious  magnitude  or  majesty. 

Then,  glance  quickly  down  from  it  to  the 
floor,  and  round  at  the  space,  (included  be- 
tween the  four  pillars),  which  that  vault 
covers. 

It  is  sixty  feet  square,^ — four  hundred 
square  yards  of  pavement, — and  I  believe 
you  will  have  to  look  up  again  more  than 
once  or  twice,  before  you  can  convince  your 
self  that  the  mean-looking  roof  is  swept  in- 
deed over  all  that  twelfth  part  of  an  acre. 
And  still  less,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  you, 
without  slow  proof,  believe,  when  you  turn 

^  Approximately.  Thinking  I  could  find  the  di- 
mensions of  the  duomo  anywhere,  I  only  paced  it  my- 
self,— and  cannot,  at  this  moment  lay  my  hand  on 
£a^sh  measurements  of  it. 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  121 

yoarself  round  towards  the  east  end,  that 
the  narrow  niche  (it  really  looks  scarcely 
more  than  a  niche)  which  occupies,  beyond 
the  dome,  the  position  of  our  northern 
choirs,  is  indeed  the  unnarrowed  elongation 
of  the  nave,  whose  breadth  extends  round 
you  like  a  frozen  lake.  From  which  ex- 
periments and  comparisons,  your  conclu- 
sion,  I  think,  will  be,  and  I  am  sure  it 
ought  to  be,  that  the  most  studious  Inge- 
nuity  could  not  produce  a  design  for  the  in- 
terior of  a  building  which  should  more  com. 
pletely  hide  its  extent,  and  throw  away 
every  common  advantage  of  its  magnitude, 
than  this  of  the  Duomo  of  Florence. 

Having  arrived  at  this,  I  assure  you, 
quite  securely  tenable  conclusion,  we  will 
quit  the  cathedral  by  the  western  door,  for 
once,  and  as  quickly  as  we  can  walk,  return 
to  the  Green  cloister  of  Sta.  Maria  Novella; 
and  place  ourselves  on  the  south  side  of  it, 
so  as  to  see  as  much  as  we  can  of  the  en- 
trance, ©n  the  opposite  side,  to  the  so-called 
«'  Spanish  Chapel." 

There  is,  indeed,  within  the  opposite 
cloister,  an  arch  of  entrance,  plain  enougli. 
But  no  chapel,  whatever,  externally  mani- 


122         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

festing  itself  as  worth  entering.  Ko  walla^ 
or  gable,  or  dome,  raised  above  the  rest  of 
the  outbuildings — only  two  windows  with 
traceries  opening  into  the  cloister ;  and  one 
Btory  of  inconspicuous  building  above.  You 
can't  conceive  there  should  be  any  effect  of 
magnitude  produced  in  the  interior,  how- 
ever it  has  been  vaulted  or  decorated.  It 
may  be  pretty,  but  it  cannot  possibly  look 
large. 

Entering  it,  nevertheless,  you  will  be 
surprised  at  the  effect  of  height,  and  dis- 
posed to  fancy  that  the  circular  window 
cannot  surely  be  the  same  you  saw  outside, 
looking  so  low.  I  had  to  go  out  again,  my* 
self,  to  make  sure  that  it  was. 

And  gradually,  as  you  let  the  eye  follow 
the  sweep  of  the  vaulting  arches,  from  the 
small  central  keystone-boss,  with  the  Lamp 
carved  on  it,  to  the  broad  capitals  of  the 
hexagonal  pillars  at  the  angles, — there  will 
form  itself  in  your  mind,  I  think,  some  im- 
pression not  only  of  vastness  in  the  build- 
ing, but  of  great  daring  in  the  builder ;  and 
Ht  last,  after  closely  following  out  the  lines 
of  a  fresco  or  two,  and  looking  up  and  up 
again  to  the  colored  vaults,  it  will  become 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         123 

to  you  literally  one  of  the  grandest  places 
you  ever  entered,  roofed  without  a  central 
pillar.  You  will  begin  to  wonder  that  hu- 
man daring  ever  achieved  anything  so 
magnificent. 

But  just  go  out  again  into  the  cloister, 
and  recover  knowledge  of  the  facts.  It  is 
nothing  like  so  large  as  the  blank  arch 
which  at  home  we  filled  with  brickbats  or 
leased  for  a  gin-shop  under  the  last  railway 
we  made  to  carry  coals  to  Newcastle.  And 
if  you  pace  the  floor  it  covers,  you  will  find 
it  is  three  feet  less  one  way,  and  thirty  feet 
less  the  other,  than  that  single  square  of 
the  Cathedral  which  was  roofed  like  a  tailor's 
loft, — accurately,  for  I  did  measure  here, 
myself,  the  floor  of  the  Spanish  chapel  is 
fifty-seven  feet  by  thirty-two. 

I  hope,  after  this  experience,  that  you 
will  need  no  farther  conviction  of  the  first 
law  of  noble  building,  that  grandeur  de- 
pends on  proportion  and  design — not,  ex- 
cept in  a  quite  secondary  degree,  on  magni- 
tude. Mere  size  has,  indeed,  under  all  dis- 
ad»vantage,  some  definite  value ;  and  so  has 
mere  splendor.  Disappointed  as  you  may 
be,  or  at  least  ought  to  be,  at  first,  by  Sl^ 


12^         MOBNINGS  II{  FLORENCE, 

Peter's  in  the  end  you  will  feel  its  size,— i 
lind  its  brightness.  These  are  all  you  can 
feel  in  it — it  is  nothing  more  than  the  pump- 
room  at  Leamington  built  bigger  ; — but  the 
bigness  tells  at  last ;  and  Corinthian  pillars 
whose  capitals  alone  are  ten  feet  high,  and 
their  acanthus  leaves,  three  feet  six  long, 
give  you  a  serious  conviction  of  the  infalli- 
bility of  the  Pope,  and  the  fallibility  of  the 
wretched  Corinthians,  who  invented  the 
style  indeed,  but  built  with  capitals  no 
bigger  than  hand-baskets. 

Vastness  has  thus  its  value.  But  the 
glory  of  architecture  is  to  be — whatever  you 
wish  it  to  be,— lovely,  or  grand,  or  comfort- 
able,— on  such  terms  as  it  can  easily  obtain. 
Grand,  by  proportion — ^lovely,  by  imagina- 
tion— comfortable,  by  ingenuity — secure,  by 
honesty ;  with  such  materials  and  in  such 
space  as  you  have  got  to  give  it. 

Grand— by  proportion,  I  said  ;  but  ought 
to  have  said  by  J^sproportion.  •  Beauty  is 
given  by  the  relation  of  parts — size,  by  their 
comparison.  The  first  secret  in  getting  the 
impression  of  size  in  this  chapel  is  the  diS'^ 
proportion  between  pillar  and  arch.  You 
take  the  pillar  for  granted,— it  is  thick. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  126 

strong,  and  fairly  high  above  your  head. 
You  look  to  the  vault  springing  from  it—* 
and  it  soars  away,  nobody  knows  where. 

Another  great,  but  more  subtle  secret  ia 
in  the  inequality  and  immeasurability  o| 
the  curved  lines ;  and  the  hiding  of  the  form 
by  the  color. 

To  begin,  the  room,  I  said,  is  flfty-sevea 
feet  wide,  and  only  thirty-two  deep.  It  la 
thus  nearly  one- third  larger  in  the  direction 
across  the  line  of  entrance,  which  gives  to 
every  arch,  pointed  and  round,  throughout 
the  roof,  a  different  spring  from  its  neigh* 
bors. 

The  vaulting  ribs  have  the  simplest  of  all 
profiles — that  of  a  chamfered  beam.  I  caU 
it  simpler  than  even  that  of  a  square  beam  ; 
for  in  barking  a  log  you  cheaply  get  your 
chamfer,  and  nobody  cares  whether  the 
level  is  alike  on  each  side ;  but  you  must 
take  a  larger  tree,  and  use  much  more  work 
to  get  a  square.  And  it  is  the  same  with 
stone. 

And  this  profile  is — fix  the  conditions  ot 
it,  therefore,  in  your  mind, — venerable  ia 
the  history  of  mankind  as  the  origin  of  all 
Gothic  tracery-moldings  j  venerable  ia  thd 


126         MORNINGS  IN  FLOItENCR 

history  of  the  Christian  Church  as  that  of 
the  roof  ribs,  both  of  the  lower  church  oi 
Assisi,  bearing  the  scroll  of  the  precepts  of 
St.  Francis,  and  here  at  Florence,  bearing 
the  scroll  of  the  faith  of  St.  Dominic.  If 
you  cut  it  out  in  paper,  and  cut  the  corners 
off  farther  and  farther,  at  every  cut,  you 
will  produce  a  sharper  profile  of  rib,  con- 
nected  in  architectural  use  with  differently 
treated  styles.  But  the  entirely  venerable 
form  is  the  massive  one  in  which  the  angle 
of  the  beam  is  merely,  as  it  were,  secured 
and  completed  in  stability  by  removing  its 
too  sharp  edge. 

Well,  the  vaulting  ribs,  as  in  Giotto's 
vault,  then,  have  here,  under  their  painting, 
this  rude  profile*:  but  do  not  suppose  the 
vaults  are  simply  the  shells  cast  over  them. 
Look  how  the  ornamental  borders  fall  on  the 
capitals !  The  plaster  receives  all  sorts  of 
indescribably  accommodating  shapes — the 
painter  contracting  and  stopping  his  design 
upon  it  as  it  happens  to  be  convenient. 
You  can't  measure  anything ;  you  can't  ex- 
haust ;  you  can't  grasp, — except  one  simple 
ruling  idea,  which  a  child  can  grasp,  it  it  is 
interested  and  intelligent;  namely,  that  the 


MORIimGb  IN  FLORENCE,         127 

room  has  four  sides  with  four  tales  told  up- 
on them ;  and  the  roof  lour  quarters,  with 
another  four  tales  told  on  those.  And  each 
history  in  the  sides  has  its  correspondent 
history  ia  the  roof.  Generally,  in  good 
Italian  decoration,  the  roof  represents  con- 
stant,  or  essential  facts ;  the  walls,  consec- 
utive histories  arising  out  of  them,  or 
leading  up  to  them.  Thus  here,  the  roof 
represents  in  front  of  you,  in  its  main 
quarter,  the  Resurrection — ^the  cardinal 
fact  of  Christianity ;  opposite  (above,  behind 
you),  the  Ascension ;  on  your  left  hand,  the 
descent  of  the  Holy  Spirit ;  on  your  right, 
Christ's  perpetual  presence  with  His  Church, 
symbolized  by  His  appearance  on  the  Sea  of 
Galilee  to  the  disciples  in  the  storm. 

The  correspondent  walls  represent :  under 
the  first  quarter,  (the  Resurrection),  the 
Story  of  the  Crucifixion^  under  the  second 
quarter,  (the  Ascension),  the  preaching  after 
that  departure,  that  Christ  will  return—* 
symbohzed  here  in  the  Dominican  churcll 
by  the  consecration  of  St.  l)ominic;  under 
the  third  quarter,  (the  descent  of  the  Holy 
Spirit),  the  disciplining  power  of  huma^ 
firtltoid  and  wisdom ;  under  the  fourth  quaiw 


128         MOBNINGS  JN  FLORENCE, 

ter,  (St.  Peter's  Ship),  the  authority  and 
government  of  the  State  and  Church. 

The  order  of  these  subjects,  chosen  by 
the  Dominican  monks  themselves,  was  suffi- 
ciently comprehensive  to  leave  boundless 
room  for  the  invention  of  the  painter.  The 
execution  of  it  was  first  intrusted  to  Taddeo 
Gaddi,  the  best  architectural  master  of 
Giotto's  school,  who  painted  the  four  quar- 
ters of  the  roof  entirely,  but  with  no  great 
brilliancy  of  invention  and  was  beginning 
to  go  down  one  of  the  sides,  when,  luckily, 
a  man  of  stronger  brain,  his  friend,  came 
from  Siena.  Taddeo  thankfully  yielded  the 
room  to  him ;  he  joined  his  own  work  to 
that  of  his  less  able  friend  in  an  exquisitely 
pretty  and  complimentary  way;  throwing 
his  own  greater  strength  into  it,  not  com- 
petitively, but  gradually  and  helpfully. 
When,  however,  he  had  once  got  himself 
well  joined,  and  softly,  to  the  more  simple 
work,  he  put  his  own  force  on  with  a  will ; 
and  produced  the  most  noble  piece  of  pic- 
torial philosophy  ^  and  divinity  existing  iu 
Italy. 

1  There  Is  no  philosophy  taught  either  by  tht 
school  of  AtxMUs  or  Michael  Angelo's  *'  Last  Ju4g« 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         129 

This  pretty,  and,  according  to  all  evidence 
by  me  attainable,  entirely  true,  traditioix 
has  been  all  but  lost,  among  the  ruins  of  fail- 
old  Florence,  by  the  industry  of  modera 
mason-critics — ^who,  without  exception,  la- 
boring under  the  primal  (and  necessarily 
unconscious)  disadvantage  of  not  knowing 
good  work  from  bad,  and  never,  therefore, 
knowing  a  man  by  his  hand  or  his  thoughts, 
would,  be  in  any  case  sorrowfully  at  the 
mercy  of  mistakes  in  a  document ;  but  ara 
tenfold  more  deceived  by  their  own  vanity, 
and  delight  in  overthrowing  a  received  idea» 
if  they  can. 

Farther:  as  every  fresco  of  this  early  date 
lias  been  retouched  again  and  again,  and 
of  ten  paint.ed  half  over, — and  as,  if  there  has 
been  the  least  care  or  respect  for  the  old 
\fork  in  the  restorer,  he  will  now  and  then 
follow  the  old  lines  and  match  the  old  colore 
carefully  iu  some  places,  while  he  puts  ia 
clearly  recognizable  work  of  his  own  in 
others, — ^two  critics,  of  whom  one  knows 
the  first  man's  work  well,  and  the  other  th© 

Bent  '*  and  the  •*  Disputa  ••  Is  merely  a  graceful  as* 
•emblage  of  autbodties,  tlie  effects  of  suck  authodtf 
Mi  being  shouft 

9 


%M9         MORNIXGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

last's,  win  contradict  each  other  to  almost 
%ny  extent  on  th»  securest  grounds.  And 
there  is  then  no  safe  refuge  for  an  uninitiated 
person  but  in  the  old  tradition,  which,  if 
not  literally  true,  is  founded  assuredly  on 
some  root  of  fact  which  you  are  likely  to 
get  at,  if  ever,  through  it  only.  So  that  my 
general  directions  to  all  young  people  going 
to  Florence  or  Rome  would  x  very  short: 
**Know  your  first  volume  of  Vasari,  and 
your  two  first  books  of  Livy;  look  about 
j^u,  and  don't  talk,  nor  listen  to  talking." 

Oa  those  terms,  you  may  know,  entering 
this  chapel,  that  in  Michael  Angelo's  time,  all 
Florence  attributed  these  frescos  to  Taddeo 
Gaddi  and  Simon  MemmL 

I  have  studied  neither  of  these  artists  my- 
self with  any  speciality  of  care,  and  cannot 
tell  you  positively,  anything  about  them  or 
their  works.  But  I  Imow  good  work  from 
bad,  as  a  cobbler  knows  leatber,  and  lean  tell 
you  positively  the  quality  of  tliese  frescos, 
and  their  relation  to  contemporary  panel 
pictures;  whether  authentically  ascribed  to 
Gaddi,  Memmi,  or  any  one  else,  it  is  for  tli6 
Florentine  Academy  to  decide. 

The  roof,  and  the  uortn  side,  down  to  thtf 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,         131 

feet  of  the  horizontal  line  of  sitting  figures, 
were  originally  third-rate  work  of  the  school 
of  Giotto ;  the  rest  of  the  chapel  was  origi- 
nally, and  most  of  it  is  still,  magnificent 
work  of  the  school  of  Siena.  The  roof  and 
north  side  have  been  heavily  repainted  in 
many  places ;  the  rest  is  faded  and  injured, 
but  not  destroyed  in  its  most  essential  qual- 
ities. And  now,  farther,  you  must  bear 
with  just  a  little  bit  of  tormenting  history 
of  painters. 

There  were  two  Gaddis,  father  and 
son, — Taddeo  and  Angelo.  And  there 
were  two  Memmis,  brothers, — Simon  and 
Philip. 

I  daresay  you  will  find,  in  the  modern 
books,  that  Simon's  real  name  was  Peter, 
and  Philip's  real  name  was  Bartholomew ; 
and  Angelo's  real  name  was  Taddeo,  and 
Taddeo's  real  name  was  Angelo ;  and  Mem- 
mi's  real  name  was  Gaddi,  and  Gaddi's  real 
name  was  Memmi.  You  may  find  out  all 
that  at  your  leisure,  afterwards,  if  you  like. 
"What  it  i^  Important  for  you  to  know  here, 
in  the  Spanish  Chapel,  is  only  this  much 
that  follows : — There  were  certainly  two 
persons   once   called   Gaddi,   both   rathei 


132  MORJ'UNGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Btupid  in  religious  matters  and  high  art ;  bu|^ 
one  of  them,  I  don't  laiow  or  care  wliich,  a 
true  decorative  painter  of  the  most  exquisite 
skill,  a  perfect  architect,  an  amiable  person, 
and  a  great  lover  of  pretty  domestic  life. 
Vasari  says  this  was  the  father,  Taddeo. 
He  built  the  Ponte  Vecchio;  and  the  old 
stones  of  it — which  if  you  ever  look  at  any- 
thing on  the  Ponte  Yecchio  but  the  shops, 
you  may  still  see  (above  those  wooden  pent- 
houses) with  the  Florentine  shield — were  so 
laid  by  him  that  they  are  unshaken  to  this 
day. 

He  painted  an  exquisite  series  of  frescos 
at  Assisi  from  the  Life  of  Christ ;  in  which, 
— just  to  show  you  what  the  man's  nature  is, 
— when  the  Madonna  has  given  Christ  into 
Simeon's  arms,  she  can't  help  holdmg  out 
her  own  arms  to  him,  and  saying,  (visibly,) 
"Won't  you  come  back  to  mamma?'* 
The  child  laughs  his  answer — "  I  lovo 
you,  mamma  ;  but  I'm  quite  happy  jusfc 
now." 

Well;  he,  or  he  and  his  son  together, 
painted  these  four  quarters  of  the  roof  of  the 
Spanish  Chapel.  They  were  very  probably 
much   retouched    afterwards  by  AntoniQ 


MOENINGS  IN  FLOUENCE.         13S 

Veneziano,  or  whomsoever  Messrs.  Crowe 
and  Cavalcasella  please ;  but  that  architeo- 
ture  in  the  descent  of  the  Holy  Ghost  is  by 
the  man  who  painted  the  north  transept  of 
Assisi,  and  there  need  be  no  more  talk  about 
the  matter, — for  you  never  catch  a  restorer 
doing  his  old  architecture  right  again.  And 
farther,  the  ornamentation  of  the  vaulting 
ribs  is  by  the  man  who  painted  the  Entomb- 
ment, No.  81  in  the  Galerie  des  Grands  Tab- 
leaux, in  the  catalogue  of  the  Academy  for 
1874.  *  Whether  that  picture  is  Taddeo  Gad- 
di's  or  not,  as  stated  in  the  catalogue,  I  do 
not  know ;  but  I  know  the  vaulting  ribs  of 
the  Spanish  Chapel  are  painted  by  the  same 
liand. 

Again :  by  the  two  brothers  Memmi,  one 
or  other,  I  don't  know  or  care  which,  had  an 
"Ugly  way  of  turning  the  eyes  of  his  figures 
up  and  their  mouths  down ;  of  which  you 
may  sey  an  entirely  disgusting  example  in 
the  four  saints  attributed  to  Filippo  Memmi 
on  the  cross  wall  of  the  north  (called  always 
in  Murray's  guide  the  south,  because  he 
didn't  notice  the  way  the  church  was  built) 
transept  of  Assisi.  You  may,  however,  also 
6ee  the  way  the  mouth  goes  dowa  in  the 


134         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

inucli  repainted,  but  still  characteristic  ITOi 
9  in  the  Uffizii.* 

Now  I  catch  the  wring  and  verjuice  of  this 
brother  again  and  again,  among  the  minor 
heads  of  the  lower  frescos  in  this  Spanish 
Chapel.  The  head  of  the  Queen  beneath 
Koah,  in  the  Limbo, — (see  below)  is  unmis- 
takable. 

Farther:  one  of  the  two  brothers,  I  don't 
care  which,  had  a  way  of  painting  leaves ;  of 
which  you  may  see  a  notable  example  in  the 
rod  in  the  hand  of  Gabriel  in  that  same  pict- 
ure of  the  Annunciation  in  the  Uffizii.  No 
Florentine  painter,  or  any  other,  ever  painted 
leaves  as  well  as  that,  till  you  get  down  to 
Sandro  Botticelli,  who  did  them  much  better. 
But  the  man  who  painted  that  rod  in  the 
hand  of  Gabriel,  painted  the  rod  in  the  right 
hand  of  Logic  in  the  Spanish  Chapel, — and 
nobody  else  in  Florence,  or  the  world,  couM, 

1  This  picture  bears  the  Inscription  (I  quote  from 
the  French  catalogue,  not  having  verified  ?t  myself), 
**  Simon  Martini,  et  Lippus  Memmi  de  Senis  me 
pfaixerunt."  I  have  no  doubt  whatever,  myself,  that 
the  two  brothers  worked  together  on  these  frescos  of 
the  Spanish  Chapel:  but  the  most  of  the  Limbo  is 
Philip's,  and  the  Faradise,  scarcely  with  his  Inter* 
ierence,  Simou's* 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         135 

Farther  (and  this  is  the  last  of  the  anti- 
quarian business) ;  you  see  that  the  frescos 
on  the  roof  are,  on  the  whole,  dark  with 
much  blue  and  red  in  them,  the  white  spaces 
coming  out  strongly.  This  is  the  character- 
istic coloring  of  the  partially  defunct  school 
of  Giotto,  becoming  merely  decorative,  and 
passing  into  a  colorist  school  which  con- 
nected itself  afterwards  with  the  Venetians, 
There  is  an  exquisite  example  of  all  its  speci- 
alities in  the  little  Annunciation  in  the  Ufiizii, 
No.  14,  attributed  to  Angelo  Gaddi,  in  which 
you  see  the  Madonna  is  stupid,*and  the  angel 
stupid,  but  the  color  of  the  whole,  as  a  piece 
of  painted  glass,  lovely ;  and  the  execution 
exquisite, — at  once  a  painter's  and  jeweler's; 
^ith  subtle  sense  of  chiaroscuro  underneath ; 
(note  the  delicate  shadow  of  the  Madonna's 
arm  across  her  breast). 

The  head  of  this  school  was  (according  to 
Vasari)  Taddeo  Gaddi;  and  henceforward, 
without  further  discussion,  I  shall  speak  of 
him  as  the  painter  of  the  roof  of  the  Spanish 
Chapel, — not  without  suspicion,  however, 
that  his  son  Angelo  may  hereafter  turn  out 
to  have  been  the  better  decorator,  and  tho 
painter  of  the  frescos  from  the  life  of  Chrisli 


186      MORnmros  in  flobenck 

in  the  north  transept  of  Assisi, — with  sucb 
assistance  as  his  son  or  scholars  might  give 
—and  such  change  or  destruction  as  time, 
Antonio  Veneziano,  or  the  last  operations 
of  the  Tuscan  railroad  company,  may  have 
effected  on  them. 

On  the  other  hand,  you  see  that  the  frescos 
on  the  walls  are  of  paler  colors,  the  blacks 
coming  out  of  these  clearly,  rather  than  the 
•whites ;  but  the  pale  colors,  especially,  for 
instance,  the  whole  of  the  Duomo  of  Flor- 
ence in  that  on  your  right,  very  tender  and 
lovely.  Also,  you  may  feel  a  tendency  to 
express  much  with  outline,  and  draw,  moro 
than  paint,  in  the  most  interesting  parts; 
while  in  the  duller  ones,  nasty  green  and 
yellow  tones  come  out,  which  prevent  the 
effect  of  the  whole  from  being  very  pleasant. 
These  characteristics  belong,  on  the  whole, 
to  the  school  of  Siena;  and  they  indicate 
here  the  work  assuredly  of  a  man  of  vast 
power  and  most  refined  education,  whom  I 
shall  call  without  further  discussion,  during 
the  rest  of  this  and  the  following  morning's 
study,  Simon  Memmi. 

And  of  the  grace  and  subtlety  with  which 
lie  joined  his  work  to  that  of  the  Gaddia^ 


^lOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         137 

ycra  may  judge  af  once  by  comparing  the 
Christ  standing  on  the  fallen  gate  of  the 
Limbo,  with  the  Christ  in  the  Resurrection 
above.  Memmi  has^  retained  the  dress  and 
imitated  the  general  effect  of  the  figure  in 
the  roof  so  faithfully  that  you  suspect  no 
difference  of  mastership — nay,  he  has  even 
laised  the  foot  in  the  same  awkward  way: 
but  you  will  find  Memmi's  foot  delicately 
drawn— Taddeo's,  hard  and  rude :  and  all 
the  folds  of  Memmi's  drapery  cast  with  un- 
broken grace  and  complete  gradations  of 
shade,  while  Taddeo's  are  rigid  and  meager ; 
also  in  the  heads,  generally  Taddeo's  type 
of  face  is  square  in  feature,  with  massive 
and  inelegant  clusters  or  volutes  of  hair  and 
beard;  but  Memmi's  delicate  and  long  in 
feature,  with  much  divided  and  flowing  hair, 
often  arranged  with  exquisite  precision,  as 
in  the  finest  Greek  coins.  Examine  succes- 
sively in  this  respect  only  the  heads  of 
Adam,  Abel,  Methuselah,  and  Abraham,  in 
4he  Limbo,  and  you  will  not  confuse  the  two 
designers  any  more.  I  have  not  had  time 
to  make  out  more  than  the  principal  figures 
in  the  Limbo,  of  which  indeed  the  entire 
dramatic  power  is  centered  in  the  Adam  and 


138  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Eve.  The  latter  dresse#  as  a  nun,  in  her 
fixed  gaze  on  Christ,  with  her  hands  clasped, 
is  of  extreme  beauty  •  and  however  feeble 
the  work  of  any  early  painter  may  be,  in 
its  decent  and  grave  inoffensiveness  it  guides 
the  imagination  unerringly  to  a  certain 
point.  How  far  you  are  yourself  capable 
of  filling  up  what  is  left  untold,  and  conceiv- 
ing, as  a  reality,  Eve's  first  look  on  this  her 
child,  depends  on  no  painter's  skill,  but  on 
your  own  understanding.  Just  above  Eve  is 
Abel,  bearing  the  lamb :  and  behind  him 
Noah,  between  his  wife  and  Shem  :  behind 
them,  Abraham,  between  Isaac  and  Ishmael; 
(turning  from  Ishmael  to  Isaac)  ;  behind 
these,  Moses,  between  Aaron  and  David.  I 
have  not  identified  the  others,  though  I  find 
the  white- bearded  figure  behind  Eve  called 
Methuselah  in  my  notes!  I  know  not  on 
what  authority.  Looking  up  from  these 
groups,  however,  to  the  roof  paintmg,  you 
will  at  once  feel  the  imperfect  grouping  and 
ruder  features  of  all  the  figures ;  and  the 
greater  depth  of  color.  We  will  dismiss 
these  comparatively  inferior  paintings  at 
once. 
The  roof  and  walls  must  be  read  together^ 


MOBJSriNGS  IN  FLORENCE.  189 

each  segment  of  the  roof  forming  an  intro- 
duction to,  or  portion  of,  the  subject  on  the 
wall  below.  But  the  roof  must  first  be 
looked  at  alone,  as  the  work  of  Taddeo 
Gaddi,  for  the  artistic  qualities  and  failures 
of  it. 

I.  In  front,  as  you  enter,  is  the  compart- 
ment  with  the  subject  of  the  Resurrection. 
It  is  the  traditional  Byzantine  composition : 
the  guards  sleeping,  and  the  two  angels  iu 
white  saying  to  the  women,  "He  is  not 
here,"  while  Christ  is  seen  rising  with  the 
flag  of  the  Cross. 

But  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  another 
example  of  the  subject,  so  coldly  treated— 
so  entirely  without  passion  or  action.  The 
fa-ces  aj-e  expressionless  ;  the  gestures  power- 
less  Evidently  the  painter  is  not  making 
the  slightest^effort  to  conceive  what  really 
happened,  but  merely  repeating  and  spoil- 
ing what  he  could  remember  of  old  design, 
or  himself  supply  of  commonplace  for  im- 
mediate need.  The  "  Noli  me  tangere,"  on 
the  right,  is  spoiled  from  Giotto,  and  others 
before  him;  a  peacock,  wofully  plumeless 
and  colorless,  a  fountain,  an  ill-drawn  toy- 
horse,    and    two     toy-children    gathering 


140         MOBNIJSGS  IJSf  FLORENCE. 

flowers,  are  emaciate  remains  of  Greek 
symbols.  He  has  taken  pains  with  the 
vegetation,  but  in  vain.  Yet  Taddeo  Gaddi 
was  a  true  painter,  a  very  beautiful  de- 
signer, and  a  very  amiable  person.  How 
comes'  he  to  do  that  Resurrection  so  badly  ? 

In  the  first  place,  he  was  probably  tired 
of  a  subject  which  was  a  great  strain  to  his 
feeble  imagination ;  and  gave  it  up  as  im- 
possible .  doing  simply  the  required  figures 
in  the  required  positions.  In  the  second, 
he  was  probably  at  the  time  despondent 
and  feeble  because  ot  his  master's  death. 
See  Lord  Lindsay,  II.  273,  where  also  it  is 
pointed  out  that  in  the  effect  of  the  light 
proceeding  from  the  figure  of  Christ,  Tad- 
deo Gaddi  indeed  was  the  first  of  the  Giot- 
tisti  who  showed  true  sense  of  light  and 
shade.  But  until  Lionardo's  time  the  in- 
novation did  not  materially  affect  Floren- 
tine art. 

II.  The  Ascension  (opposite  the  Resurrec- 
tion, and  not  worth  lookmg  at,  except  for 
the  sake  of  making  more  sure  our  conclu- 
sions from  the  first  fresco)  The  Madonna 
is  fixed  in  Bvzantine  stiffness,  without  By- 
zantine digmvj. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  141 

in.  The  Descent  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  on 
the  left  hand.  The  Madonna  and  disciples  are 
gathered  in  an  upper  chamber  :  underneath 
are  the  Parthians,  Medes,  Elamites,  etc.,  who 
hear  them  speak  in  their  own  tongues. 

Three  dogs  are  in  the  foreground — their 
mythic  purpose  the  same  as  that  of  the  two 
verses  which  affirm  the  fellowship  of  the 
dog  in  the  journey  and  return  of  Tobias : 
namely,  to  mark  the  share  of  the  lower  ani- 
mals in  the  gentleness  given  by  the  out- 
pouring of  the  Spirit  of  Christ. 

lY.  The  Church  sailing  on  the  Sea  of  the 
World.  St.  Peter  coming  to  Christ  on  the 
water. 

I  was  too  little  interested  in  the  vague 
symbolism  of  this  fresco  to  examine  it  with 
care — the  rather  that  the  subject  beneath, 
the  literal  contest  of  the  Church  with  the 
world,  needed  more  time  for  study  in  itseli 
alone  than  I  had  for  all  Florence. 

On  this,  and  the  opposite  side  of  the 
chapel,  are  represented,  by  Simon  Memmi's 
hand,  the  teaching  power  of  the  Spirit  of 
God,  and  the  saving  power  of  the  Christ  of 
God,  in  the  world,  according  to  the  under* 
standmg  of  Florence  in  his  time. 


142         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

We  will  take  the  side  of  Intellect  firsts 
beneath  the  pouring  forth  of  the  Holy 
Spirit. 

In  the  point  of  the  arch  beneath,  are  the 
three  Evangelical  Virtues.  Without  these, 
Bays  Florence,  you  can  have  no  science. 
Without  Love,  Faith  and  Hope — no  intelU- 
gence. 

Under  these  are  the  four  Cardinal  Virtues^, 
the  entire  group  being  thus  arranged: — 

A 

B  O 

D       E       F       G 

A,  Charity ;  flames  issuing  from  her  head 
and  hands. 

B,  Faith ;  holds  cross  and  shield,  quench- 
ing  fiery  darts.  This  symbol,  so  frequent 
in  modern  adaptation  from  St.  PauFs  ad* 
dress  to  personal  faith,  is  rare  in  older  art. 

C,  Hope,  with  a  branch  of  lilies. 

D,  Temperance;  bridles  a  black  fish,  on 
tvhich  she  stands. 

E,  Prudence,  with  a  book. 

F,  Justice,  with  crown  and  baton. 

G,  Fortitude,  with  tower  and  sword. 
Under  these  are  the  great  prophet*  uUI 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  143 

Bpostles ;  on  the  left,*  David,  St.  Paul,  St. 
Mark,  St.  John ;  on  the  right,  St.  Matthew, 
St.  Luke,  Moses,  Isaiah,  Solomon.  In  the 
midst  of  the  Evangelists,  St.  Thomas  Aqui- 
nas, seated  on  a  Gothic  throne. 

Now  observe,  this  throne,  with  all  the 
canopies  below  it,  and  the  complete  repre- 
sentation of  the  Duomo  of  Florence  opposite, 
are  of  finished  Gothic  of  Orcagna's  school 
— later  than  Giotto's  Gothic.  But  the  bui2d- 
ing  in  which  the  apostles  are  gathered  at  the 
Pentecost  is  of  the  early  Romanesque  mo- 
saic  school,  with  a  wheel  wmdow  from  the 
duomo  of  Assisi,  and  square  windows  from 
the  Baptistery  of  Florence.  And  this  is  al- 
ways the  type  of  architecture  used  by  Tad- 
deo  Gaddi :  while  the  finished  Gothic  could 
not  possibly  have  been  drawn  by  him,  but 
is  absolute  evidence  of  the  later  hand. 

Under  the  line  of  prophets,  as  powers 
Bummoned  by  their  voices,  are  the  mythio 
figures  of  the  seven  theological  or  spiritual, 
and  the  seven  ^eolo^cal  or  natural  sciences : 
and  under  the  feet  of  each  of  them,  the 
figure  of  its  Captain-teacher  to  the  world. 

^  I  canH  find  my  note  of  the  first  one  on  the  left] 
axiBwerijag  to  Solomon,  opposite. 


144         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

I  had  better  perhaps  give  you  the  namet 
of  this  entire  series  of  figures  from  left  te 
right  at  once.  You  will  see  presently  why 
they  are  numbered  in  a  reverse  order. 

Beneath  whom 

8.  Civil  Law.  The  Emperor  Justinian. 

9.  Canon  Law.  Pope  Clement  V. 
10.  Practical  Theology.  Peter  Lombard. 

lU  Contemplative  Theology.  Dionysius  the  Areopagitib 

12.  Dogmatic  Theology.  Boethius. 

13.  Mystic  Theology.  St.  John  DamasooM. 

14.  Polemi6  Theology.  St.  Augustine. 

7.  Arithmetic.  Pythagoras. 
6.  Geometry.  Euclid. 

5.  Astronomy.  Zoroaster. 

4.  Music.  Tttbalcain. 

8.  Logic.  Aristotle. 
2.  Ehetorio.  Cicero. 
1«  Grammar.  Priscian. 

Here,  then,  you  have  pictorially  repre» 
sented,  the  system  of  manly  education, 
supposed  in  old  Florence  to  be  that  neces- 
sarily instituted  in  great  earthly  kingdoms 
or  republics,  animated  by  the  Spirit  shed 
down  upon  the  world  at  Pentecost.  How 
long  do  you  think  it  will  take  you,  or  ought 
to  take,  to  see  such  a  picture  ?  We  were 
to  get  to  work  this  morning,  as  early  as 
might  be ;  you  haye  probably  allowed  hall 


mobj:^ing8  in  Florence,      145 

•  an  hour  for  Santa  Maria  Novella ;  half  an 
hour  for  San  Lorenzo ;  an  hour  for  the  mu- 
seum of  sculpture  at  the  Bargello ;  an  hour 
for  shopping;  and  then  it  will  be  lunch 
time,  and  you  mustn't  be  late,  because  you 
are  to  leave  by  the  afternoon  train,  and 
must  positively  be  in  Rome  to-moixow 
morning  Well,  of  your  half -hour  for  Santa 
Maria  Novella, — after  Ghirlandajo's  choir, 
Orcagna's  transept,  and  Cimabue's  Madonna, 
and  the  painted  windows,  have  been  seen 
properly,  there  will  remain,  suppose,  at  the 
utmost,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  for  the  Spanish 
Chapel.  That  will  give  you  two  minutes 
and  a  half  for  each  side,  two  for  the  ceiling, 
and  three  for  studying  Murray's  explana- 
tions or  mine.  Two  minutes  and  a  half 
you  have  got,  then — (and  I  observed,  during 
my  five  weeks'  work  in  the  chapel,  that 
English  visitors  seldom  gave  so  much) — to 
read  this  scheme  given  you  by  Simon 
Memmi  of  human  spiritual  education.  In 
order  to  understand  ^e  purport  of  it,  in 
any  the  smallest  degree,  you  must  summon 
to  your  memory,  in  the  course  of  these  two 
minutes  and  a  half,  what  you  happen  to  be 
acquainted  with  of  the  doctrines  and  char- 


146  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

tcters  of  Pythagoras,  Zoroaster,  AristotT^a^ 
Dionysius  the  Areopagite,  St.  Augustme, 
and  the  emperor  Justinian,  and  having  fur- 
ther observed  the  expressions  and  actions 
attributed  by  the  painter  to  these  person- 
ages, judge  how  far  he  has  succeeded  in 
reaching  a  true  and  worthy  ideal  of  them, 
and  how  large  or  how  subordinate  a  part  in 
bis  general  scheme  of  human  learning  he 
supposes  their  peculiar  doctrines  properly 
to  occupy .  For  myself,  being,  to  my  much 
sorrow,  now  an  old  person ;  and,  to  my  much 
pride,  an  old-fashioned  one,  I  have  not  found 
my  powers  either  of  reading  or  memory  in  the 
least  increased  by  any  of  Mr.  Stephenson's 
or  Mr.  Wheatstone's  inventions ;  and  though 
indeed  I  came  here  from  Lucca  in  three 
hours  instead  of  a  day,  which  it  used  to  take, 
I  do  not  think  myself  able,  on  that  account, 
to  see  any  picture  in  Florence  in  less  time 
than  it  took  formerly,  or  even  obliged  to 
hurry  myself  in  any  investigations  connected 
with  it. 

A-ccordingly,  I  have  myself  taken  five 
weeks  to  see  the  quarter  of  this  picture  of 
Simon  Memmi's :  and  can  give  you  a  fairly 
good  account  of  that  quarter,  and  some  par« 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOEENCK         14/ 

tial  account  of  a  fragment  or  two  of  those 
on  the  other  walls  :  but,  alas !  only  of  their 
pictorial  qualities  in  either  case ;  for  I  don't 
myself  know  auy thing  whatever,  worth 
trusting  to,  about  I  *y thagoras,  or  Dionysius 
the  Areopagite ;  and  have  not  had,  and  never 
shall  have,  probably,  any  time  to  learn 
much  of  them ;  while  in  the  very  feeblest 
light  only, — in  what  the  French  would  ex- 
press by  their  excellent  word  "lueur," — 1 
am  able  to  understand  something  of  the 
characters  of  Zoroaster,  Aristotle,  and  Justi- 
nian. But  this  only  mcreases  in  me  the 
reverence  with  which  1  ought  to  stand  be- 
fore the  work  of  a  painter,  who  was  not 
only  a  master  of  his  own  craft,  but  so  pro- 
found a  scholar  and  theologian  as  to  be  able 
to  conceive  this  scheme  of  picture  and  write 
the  divine  law  by  which  Florence  was  to 
live.  Which  Law,  written  in  the  northern 
page  of  this  Vaulted  Book,  we  will  begin 
quiet  interpretation  of,  if  you  care  to  return 
bither,  to-morrow  mormii^i^ 


i4§  MOIiSl^^Kjro  i^S  FLOUENCR 


THE  FIFTH  MOROT:NrG. 

THE    STRAIT  GATE. 

As  you  return  this  morning  to  St.  Mary^ 
you  may  as  well  observe — the  matter  before 
as  being  concerning  gates — that  the  western 
fa9ade  of  the  church  is  of  two  periods.  Your 
Murray  refers  it  all  to  the  latest  of  these ;— 
I  forget  when,  and  do  not  care ;— m  whicb 
the  largest  flanking  columns,  and  the  entire 
effective  mass  of  the  walls,  with  their  riband 
mosaics  and  high  pediment,  were  built  in 
front  of,  and  above,  what  the  barbarian  ren- 
aissance designer  chose  to  leave  of  the  pure 
old  Dommican  church.  You  may  see  his  im- 
gainly  jointings  at  the  pedestals  of  the  great 
columns,  running  through  the  pretty,  parti- 
colored base,  winch,  with  the  "  Strait"  Gothio 
doors,  and  the  entire  lines  of  the  fronting  and 
flanking  tombs  (where  not  restored  by  the 
Devil  begotten  brood  of  modern  Florence),  is 
pf  pure,  and  exquisitely  severe  and  refined. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE,  149 

fdurtjeenth  century  Gothic,  with  superbly 
carved  bearings  on  its  shields.  The  small 
detached  line  of  tombs  on  the  left,  untouched 
in  its  sweet  color  and  living  weed  ornament, 
I  would  fain  have  painted,  stone  by  stone ; 
but  one  can  never  draw  in  front  of  a  church 
in  these  republican  days ;  for  all  the  black- 
guard children  of  the  neighborhood  come  to 
howl,  and  throw  stones,  on  the  steps,  and  the 
ball  or  stone  play  against  these  sculptured 
tombs,  as  a  dead  wall  adapted  for  that  pur- 
pose only,  is  incessant  in  the  fine  days  when 
I  could  have  worked. 

If  you  enter  by  the  door  most  to  the  left, 
or  north,  and  turn  immediately  to  the  right, 
on  the  interior  of  the  wall  of  the  f  a9ade  is  an 
Annunciation,  visible  enough  because  well 
preserved,  though  in  the  dark,  and  extremely 
pretty  in  its  way, — of  the  decorated  and  orna- 
mental school  following  Giotto: — I  can't 
guess  by  whom,  nor  does  it  much  matter ; 
but  it  is  well  to  look  at  it  by  way  of  contrast 
with  the  delicate,  intense,  slightly  decorated 
design  of  Memmi, — in  which,  when  you  re- 
turn into  the  Spanish  chapel,  you  will  feel 
the  dependence  for  its  effect  on  broad  masses 
Df  white  and  pale  amber,  where  the  decora- 


J  50         M0BN1NO8  IN  FLORENCU. 

tive  school  would  have  had  mosaic  of  red, 
blue,  and  gold. 

Our  first  business  this  morning  must  be 
to  read  and  understand  the  writing  on  the 
book  held  open  by  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  for 
that  informs  us  ot  the  meaning  of  the  whole 
picture. 

It  is  this  text  from  the  Book  of  Wisdom 
VII.  6. 

"  Optavl,  et  datus  est  miM  sensus. 
Invocavi,  et  venit  in  me  Spiritus  SapientlAi 
Et  preposui  illam  regnis  et  sedibus." 

**  I  willed,  and  Sense  was  given  me. 
I  prayed,  and  the  Spirit  of  Wisdom  c&,me  npon  me. 
And  I  set  her  before,  (preferred  hev  to,)  kingdoms 
and  thrones." 


The  common  translation  in  our  English 
Apocrypha  loses  the  entire  meaning  of  this 
passage,  which — not  only  as  the  statement  of 
the  experience  of  Florence  in  her  own  educa- 
tion, but  as  universally  descriptive  of  the 
process  of  all  noble  education  whatever — we 
had  better  take  pains  to  understand. 

First,  says  Florence  "I  willed,  (in  sense. 
of  resolutely  desiring,)  and  Sense  was  given 


MOENINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         151 

me.**  You  must  begin  your  education  with 
the  distinct  resolution  to  know  what  is  true, 
and  choice  of  the  strait  and  rough  road  to 
such  knowledge.  This  choice  is  offered  to 
every  youth  and  maid  at  some  moment  of 
their  life ; — choice  between  the  easy  down- 
ward road,  so  broad  that  we  can  dance  down 
it  in  companies,  and  the  steep  narrow  way, 
which  we  must  enter  alone.  Then,  and  for 
many  a  day  aftewards,  they  need  that  form 
of  persistent  Option,  and  Will :  but  day  by 
day,  the  "  Sense  "  of  the  rightness  of  what 
they  have  done,  deepens  on  them,  not  in  con- 
sequence of  the  effort,  but  by  gift  granted  in 
reward  of  it.  And  the  Sense  of  difference 
between  right  and  wrong,  and  between  beau- 
tiful and  imbeautiful  things,  is  confirmed  in 
the  heroic,  and  fulfilled  in  the  industrious, 
soul. 

That  is  the  process  of  education  in  the 
earthly  sciences,  and  the  morality  connected 
with  them.  Reward  given  to  faithful  Voli- 
tion. 

Next,  when  Moral  and  Physical  senses  are 
perfect,  comes  the  desire  for  education  in 
the  higher  world,  where  the  senses  are  no 
more  our  Teachers;  but  the  Maker  of  the 


152  MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE. 

I 

senses.    And  that  teaching,  we  cannot  get 

by  labor,  but  only  by  petition. 

"Invocavi,  et  venit  in  me  Spiritus  SapL 
entiae  " — "  I  prayed,  and  the  Spirit  of  Wis«. 
dom,"  (not,  you  observe,  was  given^  but,) 
**  came  upon  me."  The  personal  power  of 
Wisdom:  the  "- <To<t>l(i''''  or  Santa  Sophia,  to 
whom  the  first  great  Christian  temple  was 
dedicated.  This  higher  wisdom,  governing 
by  her  presence,  all  earthly  conduct,  and  by 
her  teaching,  all  earthly  art,  Florence  tells 
you,  she  obtained  only  by  prayer. 

And  these  two  Earthly  and  Divine  sciences 
are  expressed  beneath  in  the  symbols  of 
their  divided  powers; — Seven  terrestrial, 
Seven  celestial,  whose  names  have  been 
already  indicated  to  you : — ^in  which  figures 
I  must  point  out  one  or  two  technical  mat- 
ters, before  touching  their  interpretation. 
They  are  all  by  Simon  Memmi  originally ; 
but  repainted,  many  of  them  all  over,  some 
hundred  years  later, — (certainly  after  the 
disc  -^very  of  America,  as  you  will  see) — ^by 
an  artist  of  considerable  power,  and  some 


1 1  in  careless  error,  wrote  "  was  given  "  in   "Fors 
Clavigera." 


UORNINGS  Iir  FLORENCE.  158 

feeling  for  the  general  attion  of  the  figures ; 
but  of  no  refinement  or  carelessness.  He 
dashes  massive  paint  in  huge  spaces  over 
the  subtle  old  v^ork,  puts  in  his  ov7n  chiaro- 
oscuro  where  all  had  been  shadeless,  and  his 
own  violent  color  where  all  had  been  pale, 
and  repaints  the  faces  so  as  to  make  them, 
to  his  notion,  prettier  and  more  human: 
eome  of  this  upper  work  has,  however,  come 
away  since,  ana  the  original  outline,  at  least, 
is  traceable ;  while  in  the  face  of  the  Logic, 
the  Music,  and  one  or  two  others,  the  origi- 
nal work  is  very  pure.  Being  most  inter- 
ested myself  in  the  earthly  sciences,  I  had 
a  scaffolding  put  up,  made  on  a  level  with 
them,  and  examined  them  inch  by  inch,  and 
the  following  report  will  be  found  accurate 
until  next  repainting. 

For  interpretation  of  them,  you  must 
always  take  the  central  figure  of  the  Science, 
with  the  little  medallion  above  it,  and  the 
figure  below,  all  together.  Which  I  proceed 
to  do,  reading  first  from  left  to  right  for  the 
earthly  sciences,  and  then  from  right  to  left 
the  heavenly  ones,  to  the  center,  ^vhere  their 
two  highest  powers  sit,  side  by  side. 

We  begin,  then,  with  the  first  in  the  list 


154         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCS, 

l^ven  above  (Vaulted  Book,  page  144)  :— 
Grammar,  in  the  corner  farthest  from  the 
vmdow. 

1.  Grammar  :  more  properly  Grammaticg, 
•'Grammatic  Act,"  the  Art  of  Letters  or 
*' Literature,"  or  using  the  word  which  to 
Bome  English  ears  will  carry  most  weight 
^th  it, — "Scripture,"  and  its  use.  The 
Art  of  faithfully  reading  what  has  been 
written  for  our  learning;  and  of  clearly 
Tvriting  what  we  would  make  immortal  of 
©ur  thoughts.  Power  which  consists  first 
in  recognizing  letters  ;  secondly,  in  forming 
them;  thirdly,  in  the  understandings  and 
choice  of  words  which  errorless  shall  express 
our  thought.  Severe  exercises  all  reaching 
—very  few  living  persons  know,  how  far : 
"beginning  properly  in  childhood,  then  only 
to  be  truly  acquired.  It  is  wholly  impos- 
Bible — this  I  say  from  too  sorrowful  expe- 
lience — to  conquer  by  any  effort  or  time, 
liabits  of  the  hand  (much  more  of  head  and 
soul)  with  which  the  vase  of  flesh  has  been 
formed  and  filled  in  youth,— the  law  of  God 
being  that  parents  shall  compel  the  child  in 
the  day  of  its  obedience  iiitto  habits  of  hand, 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLOUENCnS.  15 J 

and  eye,  and  soul,  which,  when  it  is  old, 
shall  not,  by  any  strength,  or  any  weakness, 
be  departed  from. 

"Enter  ye  in,"  therefore,  says  Gram- 
matice,  "at  the  Strait  Gate."  She  points 
through  it  with  her  rod,  holding  a  fruit  (?) 
for  reward,  in  her  left  hand.  The  gate  is 
very  strait  indeed — ^her  own  waist  no  less 
so,  her  hair  fastened  close.  She  had  once  a 
white  veil  binding  it,  which  is  lost.  Not  a 
gushing  form  of  literature,  this, — or  in  any 
wise  disposed  to  subscribe  to  Mudie's,  my 
English  friends — or  even  patronize  Tauch- 
nitz  editions  of — what  is  the  last  new  novel 
you  see  ticketed  up  to-day  in  Mr.  Goodban's 
wiadow  ?  She  looks  kindly  down,  neverthe- 
less, to  the  three  children  whom  she  is 
teaching — two  boys  and  a  girl  (Qy.  Does 
this  mean  that  one  girl  out  of  every  twe 
should  not  be  able  to  read  or  write  ?  I  am 
quite  wUlingto  accept  that  inference,  for  my 
own  part, — should  perhaps  even  say,  two 
girls  out  of  three).  This  girl  is  of  the  high- 
est classes,  crowned,  her  golden  hair  falling 
behind  her,  the  Florentine  girdle  round  her 
hips — (not  waist,  the  object  being  to  leave 
the  lungs  full  play ;  but  to  keep  the  dress 


156  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

always  well  down  in  dancing  or  running). 
The  boys  are  of  good  birth  also,  the  nearest 
one  with  luxuriant  curly  hair — only  the 
profile  of  the  farther  one  seen.  All  reverent 
and  eager.  Above,  the  medallion  is  of  a 
figure  looking  at  a  fountain.  Underneath, 
Lord  Lindsay  says,  Priscian,  and  is,  I  doubt 
not,  right. 

Technical  Points. — The  figure  is  said  by 
Crowe  to  be  entirely  repainted.  The  dress 
is  so  throughout — ^both  the  hands  also,  and 
the  fruit,  and  rod.  But  the  eyes,  mouth, 
hair  above  the  forehead,  and  outline  of  the 
rest,  with  the  faded  veU,  and  happily,  the 
traces  left  of  the  children,  are  genuine ;  the 
strait  gate  perfectly  so,  in  the  color  under- 
neath, though  reinforced ;  and  the  action  of 
the  entire  figure  is  well  preserved :  but  there 
is  a  curious  question  about  both  the  rod  and 
fruit.  Seen  close,  the  former  perfectly  as- 
sumes the  shape  of  folds  of  dress  gathered 
up  over  the  raised  right  arm,  and  I  am  not 
absolutely  sure  that  the  restorer  has  not 
mistaken  the  folds — at  the  same  time  chang- 
ing a  pen  or  style  into  a  rod  The  fruit  also 
I  have  doubts  of,  as  fruit  is  not  so  rare  at 


2fOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  15T 

Florence  that  it  should  be  made  a  reward. 
It  is  entirely  and  roughly  repainted,  and  is 
oval  in  shape.  In  Giotto's  Charity,  luckily 
not  restored,  at  Assisi,  the  guide-books  have 
always  mistaken  the  heart  she  holds  for  an 
apple  : — and  my  own  belief  is  that  originally, 
the  Grammatice  of  Simon  Memmi  made  with 
her  right  hand  the  sign  which  said,  "  Enter 
ye  in  at  the  Strait  Gate,"  and  with  her  left, 
the  sign  which  said,  "  My  son,  give  me  thine 
Heart." 

IT..  Rhetoric.  Next  to  learning  how  to 
read  and  write,  you  are  to  learn  to  speak  ^ 
and,  young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  observe, — 
to  speak  as  little  as  possible,  it  is  farther 
implied,  till  you  have  learned. 

In  the  streets  of  Florence  at  this  day  you 
may  hear  much  of  what  some  people  call 
'*  rhetoric,"  —very  passionate  speaking  in- 
deed, and  quite  "from  the  heart," — such 
hearts  as  the  people  have  got.  That  is  to 
say,  you  never  hear  a  word  uttered  but  in  a . 
rage,  either  just  ready  to  burst,  or  for  the 
most  part,  explosive  instantly .;  everybody — • 
man,  woman,  or  child — roaring  out  their 
incontinent,  foolish,  infinitely  contemptibla 


168  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

opinions  and  wills,  on  every  smallest  oo» 
casion,  with  flashing  eyes,  hoarsely  shnek- 
ing  and  wasted  voices, — insane  ht/pe  to  drag 
by  vociferation  whatever  they  wf  uld  have, 
out  of  man  and  God. 

Now  consider  Simon  Memmi  a  Rhetorio, 
The  Science  of  Speaking,  primarily  ;  of  mak- 
ing oneself  heard  therefore :  which  is  not  to 
be  done  by  shouting.  She  alone,  of  all  the 
sciences,  carries  a  scroll:  and  being  a 
speaker  gives  you  something  to  read.  It  is 
not  thrust  forward  at  you  at  all,  but  held 
quietly  down  with  her  beautiful  depressed 
right  hand;  her  left  hand  set  coolly  and 
strongly  on  her  side. 

And  you  will  find  that,  thus,  she  alone  of 
all  the  sciences  needs  no  use  of  her  hands. 
All  the  others  have  some  important  busi- 
ness for  them.  She  none.  She  can  do  all 
with  her  lips,  holding  scroll,  ^t  bridle,  or 
•what  you  will,  with  her  right  hand,  her  left 
on  her  side. 

Again,  look  at  the  talkers  in  the  streets 
of  Florence,  and  see  how,  being  ess  ntially 
unsible  to  talk,  they  try  to  make  lips  of 
their  fingers !  How  they  poke,  wave, 
flourish,  point,  jerk,  shake  finger  and  fist  at 


MORNJJ^GS  IK  FLORENCK         159 

their  antagonists — dumb  essentially,  all  the 
while,  if  they  knew  it ;  unpersuasive  and 
ineffectual,  as  the  shaking  of  tree  branches 
in  the  wind. 

You  will  a*'€rs'  think  her  figure  ungainly 
and  stiff.  It  is  so,  partly,  the  dress  being 
more  coarsely  repainted  than  in  any  other 
of  the  series.  But  she  is  meant  to  be  both 
stout  and  strong.  What  she  has  to  say  la 
indeed  to  persuade  you,  if  possible ;  but  as* 
suredly  to  overpower  you.  And  she  has 
not  the  FlorenMne  girdle,  for  she  does  not 
want  to  move.  She  has  her  girdle  broad  at 
the  waJbt— of  all  the  sciences,  you  would  at 
first  have  thought,  the  one  that  most  needed 
breath-  Ko,  says  Simon  MemmL  You 
want  b^ath  to  run,  or  dance,  or  fight  with. 
But  to  ^peakl — If  you  know  how^  you  can 
do  you?  work  with  few  words ;  very  little 
of  thi»  pure  Florentine  air  will  be  enou^ 
if  you  ^hape  it  rightly. 

Koto,  also,  that  calm  setting  of  her  hand 
against  her  side.  You  think  Rhetorio 
should  be  glowing,  fervid,  impetuous  ?  No, 
says  Simon  Memmi.  Above  aU  things,— 
wot 
.    Andifeoirl0t  na  xeadwbat  lewztttoD  on 


160  MOBNmGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

her  scroll : — Mulceo,  dum  loquor,  varlos  in. 
duta  colores. 

Her  chief  function,  to  melt ;  make  soft, 
thaw  the  hearts  of  men  with  kind  fire ;  to 
everpower  with  peace ;  and  bring  rest,  with 
rainbow  colors.  The  chief  mission  of  all 
"Words  that  they  should  be  of  comfort. 

You  think  the  function  of  words  is  to  ex- 
cite ?  Why,  a  red  rag  will  do  that,  or  a 
Wast  through  a  brass  pipe.  But  to  give 
calm  and  gentle  heat;  to  be  as  the  south 
wind,  and  the  iridescent  rain,  to  all  bitter- 
ness of  frost ;  and  bring  at  once  strength, 
and  healing.  This  is  the  work  of  human 
lips,  taught  of  God. 

One  farther  and  final  lesson  is  given  in 
the  medallion  above.  Aristotle,  and  too 
many  modern  rhetoricians  of  his  school, 
thought  there  could  be  good  speaking  in  a 
false  cause.  But  above  Simon  Memmi's 
Rhetoric  is  Truths  with  her  mirror. 

There  is  a  curious  feeling,  almost  innate 
in  men,  that  though  they  are  bound  to 
Bpeak  truth,  in  speaking  to  a  single  person, 
they  may  lie  as  much  as  they  please,  pro- 
vided they  lie  to  two  or  more  people  at 
once.     There  is  the   same   feeling  about 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  161 

killing  most  people  would  shrink  from 
shooting  one  innocent  man ;  but  will  fire  a 
mitrailleuse  contentedly  into  an  innocent 
regiment. 

When  you  look  down  from  the  figure  of 
the  Science,  to  that  of  Cicero,  beneath,  you 
will  at  first  think  it  entirely  overthrows 
my  conclusion  that  Rhetoric  has  no  need  of 
her  hands.  For  Cicero,  it  appears,  has  three 
instead  of  two. 

The  uppermost,  at  his  chin,  is  the  only 
genuine  one.  That  raised,  with  the  finger 
up,  is  entirely  false.  That  on  the  book,  is 
repainted  so  as  to  defy  conjecture  of  its 
original  action. 

But  observe  how  the  gesture  of  the  true 
one  confirms  instead  of  overthrowing  what 
I  have  said  above.  Cicero  is  not  speaking 
at  all,  but  profoundly  thinking  before  ho 
speaks.  It  is  the  most  abstractedly  thought- 
ful face  to  be  found  among  all  the  philoso- 
phers :  and  very  beautiful.  The  whole  is 
under  Solomon,  in  the  hue  of  Prophets. 

Technical  Points, — ^These  two  figures 
have  suffered  from  restoration  more  than 
any  others,  but  the  right  hand  of  Rhetorio 

a 


162         MOBNLNGS  Ilf  FLOBENUJs. 

IS  Still  ennreiy  genuine,  ana  the  left,  except 
the  ends  of  the  fingers.  The  ear,  and  hail 
just  above  it,  are  quite  safe,  the  head  well 
set  on  its  original  line,  but  the  crown  of 
leaves  rudely  retouched,  and  then  faded. 
All  the  lower  part  of  the  figure  of  Cicero 
has  been  not  only  repainted  but  changed; 
the  face  is  genuine — I  believe  retouched, 
but  so  cautiously  and  skillfully,  that  it  la 
probably  now  more  beautiful  than  at  first. 

in  Logic.  The  science  of  reasoning,  or 
more  accurately  Reason  herself,  or  pure  in- 
telligence. 

Science  to  be  gained  after  that  of  Expres- 
sion, says  Simon  Memmi;  so,  young  peo- 
ple, it  appears  that  though  you  must  not 
speak  before  you  have  been  taught  how  to 
speak,  you  may  yet  properly  speak  before 
you  have  been  tiiught  how  to  think. 

For  indeed,  it  is  only  by  frank  speaking 
that  you  can  learn  how  to  think.  And  it  is 
no  matter  how  >rrong  the  first  thoughts  you 
have  may  be,  provided  you  express  them 
clearly ; — and  are  willing  to  have  them  put 
right. 

Fortunately,  nearly  all  of  this  beautiful 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  16? 

figure  is  practically  safe,  the  outlines  pure 
everywhere,  and  the  face  perfect ;  the  pret- 
tiest, as  far  as  I  know,  v/hich  exists  in  Ital- 
ian art  of  this  early  date.  It  is  subtle  to 
the  extreme  in  gradations  of  color  :  the  eye- 
brows drawn,  not  with  a  sweep  of  the  brush, 
but  with  separate  cross  touches  in  the  line 
of  their  growth — exquisitely  pure  in  arch ; 
the  nose  straight  and  fine  ;  the  lips — play- 
ful  slightly,  proud,  unerringly  cut ;  the  hair 
flowing  in  sequent  waves,  ordered  as  if  in 
musical  time  ;  head  perfectly  upright  on 
the  shoulders  ;  the  height  of  the  brow  com- 
pleted by  a  crimson  frontlet  set  with  pearls, 
surmounted  by  a  fleur-de  lys. 

Her  shoulders  were  exquisitely  drawn,  her 
white  jacket  fitting  close  to  soft,  yet  scarcely 
rising  breasts  ;  her  arms  singularly  strong, 
at  perfect  rest ;  her  hands,  exquisitely  deli- 
cate. In  her  right,  she  holds  a  branching 
and  leaf-bearing  rod,  (the  syllogism) ;  in  her 
left,  a  scorpion  with  double  sting,  (the 
dilemma) — more  generally,  the  powers  of 
rational  construction  and  dissolution. 

Beneath  her,  Aristotle, — intense  keenness 
of  search  in  his  half-closed  eyes. 

Medallion  above,  (less   expressive  than 


164  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Usual)  a  man  writing,  with  his  head  stooped. 
The  whole  under  Isaiah,  in  the  line  o{ 
Prophets. 

Technical  Points. — ^The  only  parts  of  this 
figure  which  have  suffered  seriously  in  re- 
painting are  the  leaves  of  the  rod,  and  the 
scorpion.  1  have  no  idea,  as  I  said  above, 
what  the  background  once  was ;  it  is  now  a 
mere  mess  of  scrabbled  gray,  carried  over 
the  vestiges,  still  with  care  much  redeem- 
able, of  the  richly  ornamental  extremity  of 
the  rod,  which  was  a  cluster  of  green  leaves 
on  a  black  ground.  Cut  the  scorpion  is  in- 
deciplierably  injured,  most  of  it  confused  re- 
painting, mixed  with  the  white  of  the  dress, 
the  double  sting  emphatic  enough  still,  but 
not  on  the  first  lines. 

The  Aristotle  is  very  genuine  throughout 
except  his  hat,  and  I  think  that  must  be 
pretty  nearly  on  the  old  lines,  though  I  can- 
not trace  them.  Th ey  are  good  lines^  new  or 
old. 

IV.  Music.  After  you  have  learned  to  rea- 
son, young  people,  of  course  you  will  be  very 
grave,  if  not  dull,  you  think.  No,  says  Si- 
mon Memmi.    By  no  means  anythmg  of  tha 


MORNINGS  m  FLORENCE,  165 

kind.  After  learning  to  reason,  you  will 
learu  to  sing ;  for  you  will  want  to.  There 
is  so  much  reason  for  singing  in  the  sweet 
world,  when  one  thinks  rightly  of  it.  None 
for  grumbling,  provided  always  you  have 
entered  in  at  the  strait  gate.  You  will  sing 
all  alorg  the  road  then,  in  a  little  while,  in  a 
manner  pleasant  for  other  people  to  hear. 

This  figure  has  been  one  of  the  loveliest  in 
the  series,  an  extreme  refinement  and  ten» 
der  severity  being  aimed  at  througnout. 
She  is  crowned,  not  with  laurel,  but  with 
small  leaves, — I  am  not  sure  what  they  are, 
being  too  much  injured :  the  face  thin,  ab- 
stracted, wistful;  the  lips  not  far  open  in 
their  low  singing ;  the  hair  rippling  softly  on 
the  shoulders.  She  plays  on  a  small  organ, 
richly  ornamented  with  Gothic  tracery,  the 
down  slope  of  it  set  with  crockets  like  those 
cf  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore.  Simon  Nemmi 
means  that  all  music  must  be  "sacred." 
Kot  that  you  are  never  to  sing  anything  but 
hymns,  but  that  whatever  is  rightly  called 
music,  or  work  of  the  Muses,  is  divine  in 
help  and  healing. 

The  actions  of  both  hands  are  singularly 
sweet.    The  right  is  one  of  the  ioveliejal 


166  MOIiNINGS  iN  FLOllENUE. 

things  I  ever  saw  done  in  painting.  She  13 
keeping  down  one  note  only,  with  her  third 
finger,  seen  under  the  raised  fourth:  the 
thumb,  just  passmg  under ;  all  the  curves  of 
the  fingers  exquisite,  and  the  pale  light  and 
shade  of  the  rosy  flesh  relieved  against  the 
ivory  white  and  brown  of  the  notes.  Only 
the  thumb  and  end  of  the  forefinger  are  seea 
of  the  left  hand,  but  they  indicate  enough  its 
light  pressure  on  the  bellows.  Fortunately, 
all  these  portions  of  the  fresco  are  absolutely 
intact. 

Underneath,  Tubal-Cain.  Not  Jubal,  as 
you  would  expect.  Jubal  is  the  inventor  of 
musical  instruments.  Tubal-Cain,  thoughfc 
the  old  Florentines,  invented  harmony. 
They,  the  best  smiths  in  the  world,  knew  the 
differences  in  tones  of  hammer  strokes  on 
anvil.  Curiously  enough,  the  only  piece  o* 
true  part-singing,  done  beautifully  and  joy- 
fully, which  I  have  heard  this  year  in  Italy, 
(being  south  of  Alps  exactly  six  months,  and 
ranging  from  Genoa  to  Palermo)  was  out  of 
a  busy  smithy  at  Perugia.  Of  bestial  howU 
ing,  and  entirely  f  rantio  vomiting  up  of  hope- 
lessly damned  souls  through  their  still  carnal 
throats,  I  have  heard  more  than,  please  God, 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  167 

I  will  ever  endure  the  hearing  of  agam  in 
one  of  His  summers. 

You  think  Tubal-Cain  veiy  ugly?  Yes. 
Much  like  a  shaggy  baboon :  not  accidentally, 
but  with  most  scientific  understanding  of 
baboon  character.  Men  must  have  looked 
like  that,  before  they  had  invented  harmony, 
or  felt  that  one  note  differed  from  another, 
says,  and  knows,  Simon  Memmi.  Darwin- 
ism, like  all  widely  popular  and  widely  mis- 
chievous fallacies,  has  many  a  curious  gleam 
and  grain  of  truth  in  its  tissue. 

Under  Moses. 

Medallion,  a  youth  drinking.  Otherwise, 
you  might  have  thought  only  church  music 
meant,  and  not  feast  music  also. 

Technical  Points, — The  Tubal-Cain,  one 
of  the  most  entirely  pure  and  precious  rem- 
nants of  the  old  painting,  nothing  lost: 
nothing  but  the  redder  ends  of  his  beard 
retouched.  Green  dress  of  Music,  in  the 
body  and  over  limbs  entirely  repainted  :  it 
was  once  beautifully  embroidered ;  sleeves, 
partly  genuine,  hands  perfect,  face  and  hair 
nearly  so.  Leaf  crown  faded  and  broken 
away,  but  not  retouched. 


16S         MOBNINGS  ly  FLOBENCK 

"  ^p  Astronomy.  Properly  Astro-logy,  as 
(Theology)  the  knowledge  of  so  much  of  the 
stars  as  we  can  know  wisely ;  not  the  at- 
tempt to  define  their  laws  for  them.  Not 
that  it  is  unbecoming  of  us  to  find  out,  if 
we  can,  that  they  move  in  ellipses,  and  so 
on ;  but  it  is  no  business  of  ours.  What  ef- 
fects their  rising  and  setting  have  on  man, 
and  beast,  and  leaf ;  what  their  times  and 
changes,  are,  seen  and  felt  in  this  world,  it 
is  our  business  to  know,  passing  our  nights, 
if  wakefuUy,  by  that  divine  candlelight,  and 
no  other. 

She  wears  a  dark  purple  robe ;  holds  in 
her  left  hand  the  hollow  globe  with  golden 
zodiac  and  meridians :  lifts  her  right  hand  in 
noble  awe. 

"  When  I  consider  the  heavens,  the  work 
of  Thy  fingers,  the  moon  and  the  stars, 
"which  Thou  hast  ordained." 

Crowned  with  gold,  her  dark  hair  in  ellip- 
tic waves,  bound  with  glittering  chains  of 
pearl.    Her  eyes  dark,  lifted. 

Beneath  her,  Zoroaster,^  entirely  noble 

*  Alas !  according  to  poor  Yasari,  and  sundry  mod- 
cm  guides  ^  I  find  Yasari' s  mistakes  usually  of  this 
brightly  blundering  kind.  In  matters  needing  re- 
search, after  &  wb  He,  I  find  he  is  right,  usually. 


M0BNING8  m  FLOBENCE.         169 

ind  beautiful,  the  delicate  Persian  head 
made  softer  still  by  the  elaborately  wreathed 
silken  hair,  twisted  into  the  pointed  beard, 
and  into  tapering  plaits,  falling  on  his  shoul- 
ders. The  head  entirely  thrown  back,  he 
looks  up  with  no  distortion  of  the  delicately 
arched  brow :  writing,  as  he  gazes. 

For  the  association  of  the  religion  of  the 
Magi  with  their  own  in  the  mind  of  the  Flor- 
sn  tines  of  this  time,  see  "Before  the  Soldan.** 

The  dress  must  always  have  been  white, 
because  of  its  beautiful  opposition  to  the  pur- 
pie-  above  and  that  of  Tubal-Cain  beside  it» 
But  it  has  been  too  much  repainted  to  be 
trusted  anywhere,  nothing  left  but  a  fold  or 
two  in  the  sleeves.  The  cast  of  it  from  the 
knees  down  is  entirely  beautiful,  and  I  sup- 
pose  on  the  old  lines ;  but  the  restorer  could 
throw  a  fold  well  when  he  chose.  The  warm 
light  which  relieves  the  purple  of  Zoroaster 
above,  is  laid  in  by  him.  I  don't  know  if  I 
should  have  liked  it  better,  flat,  as  it  was, 
against  the  dark  purple ;  it  seems  to  me  quite 
beautiful  now.  The  full  red  flush  oji  the  face 
of  the  Astronomy  is  the  restorer's  doing  alsOb 
She  was  much  paler,  if  not  quite  pale. 

Under  St.  Luke. 


ifO         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

Medallion,  a  stem  man,  with  sickle  and 
spade.  For  the  flowers,  and  for  us,  when 
stars  have  risen  and  set  such  and  such  times; 
—remember. 

Technical  Points, — ^Left  hand  globe,  most 
of  the  important  folds  of  the  purple  dress, 
eyes,  mouth,  hair  in  great  part,  and  crown, 
genuine.  Golden  tracery  on  border  of  dress 
lost;  extremity  of  falling  folds  from  left 
sleeve  altered  and  confused,  but  the  confu- 
sion prettily  got  out  of.  Right  hand  and 
much  of  face  and  body  of  dress  repainted, 

Zoroaster's  head  quite  pure.  Dress  re- 
painted, but  carefully,  leaving  the  hair  un^ 
touched.  Right  hand  and  pen,  now  a  com- 
mon feathered  quill,  entirely  repainted,  but 
dexterously  and  with  feeling.  The  hand  was 
once  slightly  different  in  position,  and  held, 
most  probably,  a  reed. 

VI.  Geometry,  You  have  now  learned, 
young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  read,  to  speak, 
to  think,  to  sing,  and  to  see.  You  are  get- 
ting old,  and  will  have  soon  to  think  of  being 
married ;  you  must  learn  to  build  your  house 
therefore.    Here  is  your  carpenter's  square 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE.  171 

for  you,  and  you  may  safely  and  wisely  con- 
template the  ground  a  little,  and  the  meas* 
ures  and  laws  relating  to  that,  seeing  you 
have  got  to  abide  upon  it : — and  that  you 
have  properly  looked  at  the  stars ;  not  be- 
fore then,  lest,  had  you  studied  the  ground 
first,  you  might  perchance  never  have  raised 
your  heads  from  it.  This  is  properly  the 
science  of  all  laws  of  practical  labor,  issuing 
in  beauty. 

She  looks  down,  a  little  puzzled,  greatly 
interested,  holding  her  carpenter's  square  ia 
her  left  hand,  not  wanting  that  but  for 
practical  work;  following  a  diagram  with, 
her  right. 

Her  beauty,  altogether  soft  and  in  curves, 
I  commend  to  your  notice,  as  the  exact  op-> 
posite  of  what  a  vulgar  designer  would 
have  imagined  for  her.  Kote  the  wreath  of 
hair  at  the  back  of  her  head,  which,  though 
fastened  by  a  spiral  fillet,  escapes  at  last, 
and  flies  off  loose  in  a  sweeping  curve. 
Contemplative  Theology  is  the  only  other  of 
the  sciences  who  has  such  wavy  hair. 

Beneath  her,  Euclid,  in  white  turban. 
Very  fine  and  original  work  throughout; 
but  nothing  of  special  interest  in  him. 


172         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Under  St.  Matthew. 

Medallion,  a  soldier  with  a  straight  swor^ 
(best  for  science  of  defense),  octagon  shield, 
helmet  like  the  beehive  of  Canton  Vaud. 
As  the  secondary  use  of  music  in  feasting, 
so  the  secondary  use  of  geometry  in  war— 
her  noble  art  being  all  in  sweetest  peace- 
is  shown  in  the  medallion. 

Technical  Points, — It  is  more  than  fortu- 
nate that  in  nearly  every  figure  the  original 
outline  of  the  hair  is  safe.  Geometry's  has 
scarcely  been  retouched  at  all,  except  at  the 
ends,  once  in  single  knots,  now  in  confused 
double  ones.  The  hands,  girdle,  most  of  her 
dresses,  and  her  black  carpenter's  square  are 
original.    Face  and  breast  repainted. 

YII.  Arithmetic.  Having  built  your 
house,  young  people,  and  understanding  the 
Kght  of  heaven,  and  the  measures  of  earth, 
you  may  marry — and  can't  do  better.  And 
here  is  now  your  conclusive  science,  which 
you  will  have  to  apply,  all  your  days,  to  all 
your  affairs. 

The  Science  of  Number.  Infinite  in  so- 
lemnity of  use  in  Italy  at  this  time  j  in^lud- 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  173 

fog,  of  course,  whatever  was  known  of  the 
higher  abstract  mathematics  and  mysteries 
of  numbers,  but  reverenced  especially  in  its 
vital  necessity  to  the  prosperity  of  families 
and  kingdoms,  and  first  fully  so  understood 
here  in  commercial  Florence. 

Her  hand  lifted,  with  two  fingers  bent, 
two  straight,  solemnly  enforcing  on  your 
attention  her  primal  law — Two  and  two  are 
■^four,  you  observe, — not  five,  as  those  ac- 
cursed usurers  think. 

Under  her,  Pythagoras. 

Above,  medallion  of  king,  with  scepter 
and  globe,  counting  money.  Have  you  ever 
chanced  to  read  carefully  Carlyle's  account 
of  the  foundation  of  the  existing  Prussian 
empire,  in  economy  ? 

You  can,  at  all  events,  consider  with 
yourself  a  little,  what  empire  this  queen  of 
the  terrestrial  sciences  must  hold  over  the 
rest,  if  they  are  to  be  put  to  good  use ;  or 
what  depth  and  breadth  of  application  there 
is  in  the  brief  parables  of  the  counted  cost 
of  Power,  and  number  of  Armies. 

To  give  a  very  minor,  but  characteristic, 
instance.  I  have  always  felt  that  with  my 
intense  love  of  the  Alps,  I  ought  to  havfl 


^r4  MOnmNGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

been  able  to  make  a  drawing  of  Chamouidi 
or  the  vale  of  Cluse,  which  should  give  peo- 
ple more  pleasure  than  a  photograph ;  but  I 
always  wanted  to  do  it  as  I  saw  it,  and  en- 
grave  pine  for  pine,  and  crag  for  crag,  liko 
Albert  Dtlrer.  I  broke  my  strength  down 
for  many  a  year,  always  tiring  of  my  work, 
or  finding  the  leaves  drop  off,  or  the  snow 
come  on,  before  I  had  well  begun  what  I 
meant  to  do.  If  I  had  only  counted  my  pines 
first,  and  calculated  the  number  of  hours 
necessary  to  do  them  in  the  manner  Dtirer, 
I  should  have  saved  the  available  drawing 
time  of  some  five  years,  spent  in  vain  effort. 

But  Turner  counted  his  pines,  and  did  all 
that  could  be  done  for  them,  and  rested  coi> 
tented. 

So  in  all  the  affairs  of  life,  the  arith- 
metical part  of  the  business  is  the  dominant 
one.  How  many  and  how  much  have  we  ? 
How  many  and  how  much  do  we  want? 
How  constantly  does  noble  Arithmetic  of 
the  finite  lose  itself  in  base  Avarice  of  the 
Infinite,  and  in  blind  imagination  of  it  I  In 
counting  of  minutes,  is  our  arithmetic  ever 
solicitous  enough?  In  counting  our  days. 
Is  she  ever  severe  enough  ?    How  we  shrink 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE,  175 

from  putting,  in  their  decades,  the  dimin- 
ished store  of  them !  And  if  we  ever  praj 
the  solemn  prayer  that  we  may  be  taught 
to  number  them,  do  we  eveu  try  to  do  it 
after  praying  ? 

Technical  Points. — ^The  Pythagoras  al* 
most  entirely  genuine.  The  upper  figures, 
from  this  inclusive  to  the  outer  wall,  I  have 
not  been  able  to  examine  thoroughly,  my 
scaffolding  not  extending  beyond  the  Geo- 
metry, 

Here  then  we  have  the  sum  of  sciences,— 
seven,  according  to  the  Florentine  mind- 
necessary  to  the  secular  education  of  man. 
and  woman.  Of  these  the  modern  average 
respectable  English  gentleman  and  gentle- 
woman know  usually  only  a  little  of  the 
last,  and  entirely  hate  the  prudent  applica- 
tions ot  that:  being  unacquainted,  except 
as  they  chance  here  and  there  to  pick  up  a 
broken  piece  of  information,  with  either 
grammar,  rhetoric,  music,*  astronomy,  or- 

1  Being  able  to  play  the  piano  and  admire  Hendev 
aohn  is  not  knowing  music* 


176         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

geometry ;  and  are  not  only  unacquainted 
with  logic,  or  the  use  of  reason,  themselves, 
but  instinctively  antagonistic  to  its  use  by 
anybody  else. 

We  are  now  to  read  the  series  of  the 
Divine  sciences,  beginning  at  the  opposite 
Bide,  next  the  window. 

Vm.  Civil  Law.  Civil,  or  "  of  citizens," 
not  only  as  distinguished  from  Ecclesias* 
tical,  but  from  Local  law.  She  is  the  uni- 
versal Justice  of  the  peaceful  relations  of 
men  throughout  the  world,  therefore  holds 
the  globe,  with  its  three  quarters,  white,  aa 
being  justly  governed  in  her  left  hand. 

She  is  also  the  law  of  eternal  equity,  not 
jmng  statute;  therefore  holds  her  sword 
level  across  her  breast. 

She  is  the  foundation  of  all  other  divine 
science.  To  know  anything  whatever  about 
God,  you  must  begin  by  being  Just. 

Dressed  in  red,  which  in  these  frescos 
is  always  a  sign  of  power,  or  zeal ;  but  her 
face  very  calm,  gentle  and  beautiful.  Her 
hair  bound  close,  and  crowned  by  the  royal 
circlet  of  gold,  with  pure  thirteenth  century 
strawberry  leaf  ornament. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         177 

Under  her,  the  Emperor  Justinian,  in  blue, 
with  conical  mitre  of  white  and  gold ;  the 
face  in  profile,  very  beautiful.  The  im- 
perial staff  in  his  right  hand,  the  Institutes 
in  his  left. 

Medallion,  a  figure,  apparently  in  dis- 
tress, appealing  for  justice.  (Trajan's  sup- 
phant  widow  ?) 

Technical  Points. — The  three  divisions  of 
the  globe  in  her  hand  were  originally  in- 
scribed Asia,  Africa,  Europe.  The  re- 
storer has  ingeniously  changed  Af  into 
Ame — RICA.  Faces,  both  of  the  science  and 
emperor,  little  retouched,  nor  any  of  the 
rest  altered. 

IX«  Christian  Law.  After  the  justice 
which  rules  men,  comes  that  which  rules 
the  Church  of  Christ.  The  distinction  is 
not  between  secular  law,  and  ecclesiastical 
authority,  but  between  the  equity  of  hu- 
manity, and  the  law  of  Christian  discipline. 

In  full,  straight-falling,  golden  robe,  with 
white  mantle  over  it ;  a  church  in  her  left 
hand ;  her  right  raised,  with  the  forefinger 
lifted;  (indicating  heavenly  source  <jf  all 
Christian  law  ?  or  warning  ?) 
12 


178         MOBNINiJrS  IN  FLORENCE. 

Head-dress,  a  white  veil  floating  into  folds 
in  the  air.  You  will  find  notliing  in  these 
frescos  without  significance ;  and  as  the 
escaping  hair  of  Geometry  indicates  the  in- 
finite conditions  of  lines  of  the  higher  or- 
ders, so  the  floating  veil  here  indicates  that 
the  higher  relations  of  Christian  justice  are 
indefinabk.  So  her  golden  mantle  indi- 
cates  that  it  is  a  glorious  and  excellent 
justice  beyond  that  which  unchristian  men. 
conteive;  while  the  severely  falling  lines 
of  the  folds,  which  form  a  kind  of  gabled 
niche  for  the  head  of  the  Ptpe  beneath, 
correspond  with  the  strictness  of  true 
Church  discipline,  firmer  as  well  as  more 
luna^inous  statute. 

Beneath,  Pope  Clement  Y.,  in  red,  lifting 
his  hand,  not  in  the  position  of  benediction, 
but,  I  suppose,  of  injimc^on, — only  the  fore- 
finger straight,  the  second  a  little  bant,  the 
two  last  quite.  Note  the  strict  level  of  the 
book ;  and  the  vertical  directness  of  the  key. 

The  medallion  puzzles  me.  It  looks  like  a 
figure  countmg  money. 

Technical  Points. — ^Fairly  well  preserved; 
but  the  face  of  the  science  retouched;  tho 


MOBNINQS  IN  FLORENCE.  17d 

grotesquely  false  perspective  of  the  Pope's 
tiara,  one  of  the  most  curiously  naive  exam- 
ples of  the  entirely  ignorant  feeling  after 
merely  scientific  truth  of  form  which  still 
characterized  Italian  art. 

Type  of  church  interesting  in  its  extreme 
simplicity;  no  idea  of  transept,  campanile, 
or  dome. 

X.  Practical  Theology.  The  beginning 
of  the  knowledge  of  God  being  Human  Jus- 
tice, and  Its  elements  defined  by  Christian 
Law,  the  application  of  the  law  so  defined 
follows,  first  with  respect  to  man,  then  with 
respect  to  God. 

"Render  unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are 
Caesar's — and  to  God  the  things  that  are 
God's." 

We  have  therefore  now  two  sciences,  one 
of  our  duty  to  men,  the  other  to  their  Maker. 

This  is  the  first :  duty  to  men.  She  holds 
a  circular  medallion,  representing  Christ 
preaching  on  the  Mount,  and  points  with  hex 
right  hand  to  the  earth. 

The  sermon  on  the  Mount  is  perfectly  ex* 
pressed  by  the  craggy  pinnacle  in  front  of 
Christ,  and  the  high  dark  horizon.    There  it 


180  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

curious  evidence  throughout  all  these  frCb,, 
cos  of  Simon  Memmi's  having  read  the  Gos- 
pels with  a  quite  clear  understanding  of  their 
innermost  meaning. 

I  liave  called  this  science  Practical  Theol^ 
ogy : — the  instructive  knowledge,  thai  is  to 
say,  of  what  God  would  have  us  do,  person^ 
ally,  in  any  given  human  relation ;  and  the 
gpeaking  His  Gospel  therefore  by  act.  "  Let 
your  light  so  shine  before  men." 

She  wears  a  green  dress,  like  Music  her 
hair  in  the  Arabian  arch,  with  jeweled  dia« 
dem. 

Under  David. 

Medallion,  Almsgiving. 

Beneath  her,  Peter  Lombard. 

Technical  J^omts. — It  is  curious  that  while 
the  instinct  of  perspective  was  not  strong 
enough  to  enable  any  painter  at  this  time  to 
foreshorten  a  foot,  it  yet  suggested  to  them 
the  expression  of  elevation  by  raising  the 
horizon. 

I  have  not  examined  the  retouching.  The 
hair  and  diadem  at  least  are  genuine,  the 
face  is  dignified  and  compassionate,  and 
much  on  the  old  lines. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCF.  181 

jH,  Devotional  Theology. — Giving  glory 
to  God,  or,  more  accurately,  whatever  feel» 
ings  He  desires  us  to  have  towards  Him, 
whether  of  affection  or  awe. 

This  is  the  science  or  method  of  devoiton 
for  Christians  universally,  just  as  the  Prac- 
tical Theology  is  their  science  or  method  (A 
action. 

In  blue  and  red :  a  narrow  black  rod  still 
traceable  in  the  left  hand;  I  am  not  sure  of 
its  meaning.  (Thy  rod  and  Thy  staff,  they 
comfort  me?")  The  other  hand  open  in 
admiration,  like  Astronomy's;  but  Devo- 
tion's is  held  at  her  breast.  Her  head  very 
characteristic  of  Memmi,  with  upturned  eyes, 
and  Arab  arch  in  hair.  Under  her,  Diony- 
eius  th  e  Ar eopagi te — mending  his  pen !  Bnt 
I  am  doubtful  of  Lord  Lindsay's  identifica- 
tion of  this  figure,  and  the  action  is  curiously 
common  and  meaningless.  It  may  have 
meant  that  meditative  theology  is  essen- 
tially a  writer,  not  a  preacher. 

The  medallion,  on  the  other  hand,  is  as 
ingenious.  A  mother  lifting  her  hands  ia 
delight  at  her  child's  beginiuug  to  tako 
notice. 

Under  St.  PauLj 


182  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

Technical  Points. —  Both  figures  ver^ 
genuine,  the  lower  one  almost  entirely  sa 
The  painting  of  the  red  book  is  quite  exein* 
plary  in  fresco  style. 

Xrr.  Dogmatic  Theology. — After  action 
and  worship,  thought  becoming  too  wide  and 
difficult,  the  need  of  dogma  becomes  felt; 
the  assertion,  that  is,  within  limited  ranges 
of  the  things  that  are  to  be  believed. 

Since  whatever  pride  and  folly  pollute 
Christian  scholarship  naturally  delight  in 
dogma,  the  science  itself  cannot  but  be  ia 
a  kind  of  disgrace  among  sensible  mens 
nevertheless  it  would  be  difficult  to  over- 
value  the  peace  and  security  which  have 
been  given  to  humble  persons  by  forms  of 
creed ;  and  it  is  evident  that  either  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  theology,  or  some  of  its 
knowledge  must  be  thus,  if  not  expressible^ 
at  least  reducible  within  certain  limits  of 
expression,  so  as  to  be  protected  from  mis- 
interpretation. 

In  red, — again  the  sign  of  power, — crowned 
tTith  a  black  (once  golden?)  triple  crown, 
emblematic  of  the  Trinity.  The  left  hand 
bolding  a  scoop  for  winnowing  corn;  the 


MOENINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  185 

other  points  upwards.  "  Prove  all  things-^ 
hold  fast  that  which  is  good,  or  of  God." 

Beneath  her,  Boethius. 

Under  St.  Mark. 

Medallion,  female  figure,  laying  hands  on 
breast. 

Technical  Points, — The  Boethius  entirely 
genuine,  and  the  painting  of  his  black  book, 
as  of  the  red  one  beside  it,  again  worth 
notice,  showing  how  pleasant  and  interest- 
ing the  commonest  things  become,  when 
well  painted. 

I  have  not  examined  the  upper  figure. 

XIII.  Mystic  Theology.  *  Monastic  sci- 
ence, above  dogma,  and  attaining  to  new  rev- 
elation by  reaching  higher  spiritual  states. 

In  white  robes,  her  left  hand  gloved  (I 
don't  know  why) — ^holding  chalice.  She 
wears  a  nun's  veil  fastened  under  her  chin, 
her  hair  fastened  close,  like  Grammar's, 
showing  her  necessary  monastic  life;  all 
states  of  mystic  spiritual  life  involving  re- 
treat from  much  that  is  allowable  in  the 
material  and  practical  world. 

^BI>uideringly  in  tli&  gujL4e-l)oo]^  called  **  Faith  V^ 


184         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

There  is  no  possibility  of  denying  thU 
fact,  infinite  as  the  evils  are  which  have 
arisen  from  misuse  of  it.  They  have  beem 
chiefly  induced  by  persons  who  falsely  pre- 
tended  to  lead  monastic  life,  and  led  it  with- 
out having  natural  faculty  for  it.  But  many 
more  lamentable  errors  have  arisen  from, 
the  pride  of  really  noble  persons,  who  have 
thought  it  would  be  a  more  pleasing  thing 
to  God  to  be  a  sibyl  or  a  witch,  than  a  use- 
ful housewife.  Pride  is  always  somewhat 
involved  even  in  the  true  effort :  the  scarlet 
head-dress  in  the  form  of  a  horn  on  the  fore- 
head in  the  fresco  indicates  this,  both  Aere, 
and  in  the  Contemplative  Theology. 

Under  St.  John. 

Medallion  unintelligible,  to  me.  A  woman 
laying  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  two  small 
figures. 

Technical  Points.— More  of  the  minute 
folds  of  the  white  dress  left  than  in  any 
other  of  the  repainted  draperies.  It  is  curi- 
ous that  minute  division  has  always  in  dra- 
pery, more  or  less,  been  understood  as  an 
expression  of  spiritual  life,  from  the  delicate 
folds  of  Athena's  peplus  down  tp  the  rippled 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         181 

edges  of  modern  priests'  white  robes; 
Titian's  breadth  of  fold,  on  the  other  hand, 
meaning  for  the  mosjb  part  bodily  power. 
The  relation  of  the  two  modes  pf  composi- 
tion was  lost  by  Michael  Angelo,  who 
thought  to  express  spirit  by  making  flesh 
colossal. 

For  the  rest,  the  figure  is  not  of  any  ia* 
terest,  Memmi's  own  mind  being  intellectual 
rather  than  mystic. 

XIY.  Polemic  Theology.  * 

"Who  goes  forth,  conquering  and  to  coil« 
quer?" 

"For  we  war,  not  with  flesh  and  blood,'' 
etc. 

In  red,  as  sign  of  power,  but  not  in  armor, 
because  she  is  herself  invulnerable.  A  close 
red  cap,  with  cross  for  crest,  instead  of  hel- 
met.   Bow  in  left  hand ;  long  arrow  in  right. 

She  partly  means  Aggressive  Logic :  com- 
pare the  set  of  her  shoulders  and  arms  with 
Logic's. 

She  is  placed  the  last  of  the  Divine  sci- 
ences, not  as  their  culminating  power,  but 

asiuuderin^ly  called  **  Charity  "  la  the|suid&-^i90kfl^ 


186  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

as  the  last  which  can  be  rightly  learned. 
You  must  know  all  the  others,  before  you 
go  out  to  battle.  Whereas  the  general  prin- 
ciple of  modern  Christendom  is  to  go  out  to 
battle  without  knowing  any  o)ie  of  the 
others ;  one  of  the  reasons  for  this  error, 
the  prince  of  errors,  being  the  vulgar  notion 
that  truth  may  be  ascertained  by  debate! 
Truth  is  never  learned,  in  any  department 
of  industry,  by  arguing,  but  by  working, 
and  observing.  And  when  you  have  got 
good  hold  of  one  truth,  for  certain,  two 
others  will  grow  out  of  it,  in  a  beautifully 
dicotyledonous  fashion,  (which,  as  before 
noticed,  is  the  meaning  of  the  branch  in 
IiOgic's  right  hand).  Then,  when  you  have 
got  so  much  true  knowledge  as  is  worth 
fighting  for,  you  are  bound  to  fight  for  it. 
But  not  to  debate  about  it  any  more. 

There  is,  however,  one  further  reason  for 
Polemic  Theology  being  put  beside  Mystic. 
It  is  only  in  some  approach  to  mystic  sci- 
ence that  any  man  becomes  aware  of  what 
St.  Paul  means  by  "  spiritual  wickedness  in 

*  "With  cowardly  intentional  fallacy,  translate^ 
••iiigh  "  in  the  English  Bible. 


mohnings  in  flohencr       i87 

heavenly^  places;"  or,  in  any  true  sense, 
knows  the  enemies  of  God  and  of  man. 

Beneath  St.  Augustme.  Showing  you  the 
proper  method  of  controversy; — perfectly 
firm ;  perfectly  gentle. 

You  are  to  distinguish,  of  course,  contro- 
versy from  rebuke.  The  assertion  of  truth 
is  to  be  always  gentle :  the  chastisement  of 
willful  falsehood  may  be — ^very  much  the 
contrary  indeed.  Christ's  sermon  on  tha 
Mount  is  full  of  polemio  theology,  yet  per- 
fectly gentle : — "  Ye  have  heard  that  it  hath 
been  said — ^but  I  say  unto  you"  5 — "  And  if 
ye  salute  your  brethren  only,  what  do  ye 
more  than  others  ?  "  and  the  like.  But  His 
•*  Ye  fools  and  blind,  for  whether  is  greater," 
Is  not  merely  the  exposure  of  error,  but  re- 
buka  of  the  avarice  which  made  that  error 
possible. 

Under  the  throne  of  St.  Thomas;  and 
next  to  Arithmetic,  of  the  terrestrial  sci- 
ences. 

Medallion,  a  soldier,  but  not  interesting. 

Technical  Points, — ^Very  genuine  and 
beautiful  throughout.  Note  the  use  of  St. 
Augustine's  red  bands,  to  connect  him  with 


188         MORNINGS  JN  FLORENCE. 

the  full  red  of  the  upper  figures ;  and  coiOt 
pare  the  niche  formed  by  the  dress  of  Canon 
Law,  above  the  Pope,  for  different  artistio 
methods  of  attaining  the  same  object^-* 
unity  of  composition. 

But  lunch  time  is  near,  my  friends,  and 
you  iiave  that  shopping  to  do,  you  know* 


THE  SIXTH  MOROTNOL 


I  AM  obliged  to  interrupt  my  account  of 
^e  Spanish  chapel  by  the  following  notes 
on  the  sculptures  of  Giotto's  Campanile: 
first  because  T  find  that  inaccurate  accounts 
of  those  sculptures  are  in  course  of  publica- 
tion; and  chiefly  because  I  cannot  finish 
my  work  in  the  Spanish  chapel  until  one  of 
my  good  Oxford  helpers,  Mr.  Caird,  has 
completed  some  investigations  he  has  un- 
dertaken for  me  upon  the  history  connected 
with  it.  I  had  written  my  own  analysis  of 
the  fourth  side,  believing  that  in  every 
scene  of  it  the  figure  of  St.  Dominio  was 
repeated.  Mr.  Caird  first  suggested,  and 
has  shown  me  already  good  grounds  for  his 
his  belief,*  that  the  preaching  monks  rep» 


*  He  wrote  thus  to  me  on  11th  November  lasts 
•*Tha  three  preachers  are  certainly  different.    Tbft 

189 


190         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

resented  are  in  each  scene  intenaed  for  a 
different  person.  I  am  informed  also  ol 
several  careless  mistakes  which  have  got 
into  my  description  of  the  fresco  of  the 
Sciences ;  and  finally,  another  of  my  young 
helpers,  Mr.  Charles  F.  Murray, — one,  how- 
ever,  whose  help  is  given  much  in  the  form 
©f  antagonism, — informs  me  of  various  crit- 
Seal  discoveries  lately  made,  both  by  him« 
self  and  by  industrious  Germans,  of  points 
respecting  the  authenticity  of  this  and  that, 
which  will  require  notice  from  me:  more 
especially  he  tells  me  of  a  certification  that 
the  picture  in  the  Ufflzii,  of  which  I  accept- 
ed  the  ordinary  attribution  to  Giotto,  is  by 
Lorenzo  Monaco, — which  indeed  may  well 
be,  without  in  the  least  diminishing  the  use 
to  you  of  what  I  have  written  of  its  pre- 
deUa,  and  without  in  the  least,  if  you  think 
rightly  of  the  matter,  diminishing  your  con* 
fidence  in  what  I  tell  you  of  Giotto  gener- 
ally. There  is  one  kind  of  knowledge  of 
pictures  which  is  the  artist's,  and  another 
which  is  the  antiquary's  and  the  picture- 
first  is  Dominic;  the  second,  Peter  Martyr,  whom  I 
have  identified  from  his  martTrdcm  on  the  othtl 
frail;  ana  me  liurd,  ^quuias.'* 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  191 

dealer's ;  the  latter  especially  acute,  and 
founded  on  very  secure  and  wide  knowledge 
of  canvas,  pigment,  and  tricks  of  touch, 
without,  necessarily,  involving  any  knowl- 
edge whatever  of  the  qualities  of  art  itself. 
There  are  few  practiced  dealers  in  the  great 
cities  of  Europe  whose  opinion  would  not  be 
more  trustworthy  than  mine,  (if  you  could 
get  it,  mind  you,)  on  points  of  actual  authen- 
ticity.  But  they  could  only  tell  you  whe- 
ther the  picture  was  by  such  and  such  a 
master,  and  not  at  all  what  either  the  mas- 
ter or  his  work  were  good  for.  Thus,  I 
have,  before  now,  taken  drawings  by  Varley 
and  by  Cousins  for  early  studies  by  Turner, 
and  have  been  convinced  by  the  dealers 
that  they  knew  better  than  I,  as  far  as  re- 
garded the  authenticity  of  those  drawings  ; 
but  the  dealers  don't  know  Turner,  or  the 
worth  of  him,  so  well  as  I,  for  all  that.  So, 
also,  you  may  find  me  again  and  again  mis- 
taken among  the  much  more  confused  work 
of  the  early  Giottesque  schools,  as  to  the 
authenticity  of  this  work  or  the  other ;  but 
you  will  find  (and  I  say  it  with  far  more 
sorrow  than  pride)  that  I  am  simply  the 
only  person  who  can  at  present  tell  you  the 


192  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

real  worth  of  any;  you  will  find  that  when- 
ever I  tell  you  to  look  at  a  picture,  it  is 
worth  your  pains ;  and  whenever  I  tell  you 
the  character  of  a  painter,  that  it  is  his 
character,  discerned  by  me  faithfully  lu 
spite  of  all  confusion  of  work  falsely  at- 
tributed to  him  in  which  similar  character 
may  exist.  Thus,  when  I  mistook  Cousins 
for  Turner,  I  was  looking  at  a  piece  of  sub- 
tlety in  the  sky  of  which  the  dealer  had 
no  consciousness  whatever,  which  was  es- 
sentially Turneresque,  but  which  another 
man  might  sometimes  equal ;  whereas  the 
dealer  might  be  only  looking  at  the  quality 
of  Whatman's  paper,  which  Cousins  used, 
and  Turner  did  not. 

Not,  in  the  meanwhile,  to  leave  you  quite 
guideless  as  to  the  main  subject  of  the 
fourth  fresco  in  the  Spanish  chapel, — the 
Pilgrim's  Progress  of  Florence, — here  is  a 
brief  map  of  it. 

On  the  right,  in  lowest  angle,  St.  Dominic 
preaches  to  the  group  of  Infidels;  in  the 
next  group  towards  the  left,  he  (or  some 
one  very  like  him)  preaches  to  the  Heretics : 
the  Heretics  proving  obstinate,  he  sets  hit 
dogs  at  them,  as  at  the  fatallest  of  wolvesy 


MOIiNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  195 

who  being  driven  away,  the  rescued  lamba 
are  gathered  at  the  feet  of  the  Pope,  I  have 
copied  the  head  of  the  very  pious,  but 
slightly  weak-minded,  little  lamb  in  the 
center,  to  compare  with  my  rough  Cumber- 
land ones,  who  have  had  no  such  grave  ex- 
periences. The  whole  group,  with  the  Pope 
above,  (the  niche  of  the  Duomo  joining  with 
and  enriching  the  decorative  power  of  hi» 
mitre,)  is  a  quite  delicious  piece  of  design. 

The  Church  being  thus  pacified,  is  seen  in 
Worldly  honor  under  the  powers  of  the 
Spiritual  and  Temporal  Rulers.  The  Pope, 
with  Cardinal  and  Bishop  descending  in 
order  on  his  right;  the  Emperor,  with  King 
and  Baron  descending  in  order  on  his  left ; 
the  ecclesiastical  body  of  the  whole  Church 
on  the  right  side,  and  the  laity, — chiefly  its 
poets  and  artists,  on  the  left. 

Then,  the  redeemed  Church  nevertheless 
giving  itself  up  to  the  vanities  and  tempta- 
tions of  the  world,  its  forgetful  saints  are 
seen  feastmg,  with  their  children  dancing 
before  them,  (the  Seven  Mortal  Sins,  say 
some  comr^ientators).  But  the  wise-hearted 
of  them  confess  their  sins  to  another  ghost 
of  St.  Dominic;  and  confessed,  oecoming. 
13 


194         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

as  little  unildren,  enter  hand  bi  hand  the 
gate  of  the  Eternal  Paradise,  crowned  with 
flowers  by  the  waiting  angels,  and  admitted 
by  St.  Peter  among  the  serenely  joyful 
crowd  of  all  the  saints,  above  whom  the 
white  Madonna  stands  reverently  before  the 
throne.  There  is,  so  far  as  I  know,  through- 
out  all  the  schools  of  Christian  art,  no  other 
so  perfect  statement  of  the  noble  policy  and 
religion  of  men. 

I  had  intended  to  give  the  best  account  of 
it  in  my  power;  but,  when  at  Florence,  lost 
all  time  for  writing  that  I  might  copy  the 
group  of  the  Pope  and  Emperor  for  the 
schools  of  Oxford ;  and  the  work  since  done 
by  Mr.  Caird  has  informed  me  of  so  much, 
and  given  me,  in  some  of  its  suggestions,  so 
much  to  think  of,  that  I  believe  it  will  be 
best  and  most  just  to  print  at  once  his  ac- 
count of  the  fresco  as  a  supplement  to  these 
essays  of  mine,  merely  indicating  any  points 
on  which  I  have  objections  to  raise,  and  so 
leave  matters  till  Fors  lets  me  see  Florence 
once  more. 

Perhaps  she  may,  in  kindness  forbid  my 
«Ter  seeing  it  more,  the  wreck  of  it  being 
now  too  ghastly  and  heartbreaking  to  any 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLOkENCE.  19& 

human  soul  that  remembers  the  days  of  oId_ 
Forty  years  ago,  there  was  assuredly  na 
spot  of  ground,  out  of  Palestine,  in  all  the 
round  world,  on  which,  if  you  knew,  even 
but  a  little,  the  true  course  of  that  world'a 
history,  you  saw  with  so  much  joyful  rever- 
ence the  dawn  of  morning,  as  at  the  foot  of 
the  Tower  of  Giotto.  For  there  the  tradi- 
tions  of  faith  and  hope,  of  both  the  Gentile 
and  Jewish  races,  met  for  their  beautiful 
labor :  the  Baptistery  of  Florence  is  the  last 
building  raised  on  the  earth  by  the  descend- 
ants of  the  workmen  taught  by  Daedalus: 
and  the  To^v\rer  of  Giotto  is  the  loveliest  of 
those  raised  on  earth  under  the  inspiration 
of  the  men  who  lifted  up  the  tabernacle  in 
the  wilderness.  Of  living  Greek  work  thero 
is  none  after  the  Florentine  Baptistery  ;  of 
living  Christian  work,  none  so  perfect  as  the- 
Tower  of  Giotto ;  and,  under  the  gleam  and 
shadow  of  their  marbles,  the  morning  light 
was  haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  the  Father  of 
Natural  Science,  Galileo ;  of  Sacred  Art^ 
Angelico,  and  the  Master  of  Sacred  Song^ 
Which  spot  of  ground  the  modern  Floren- 
tine has  made  his  principal  hackney-coach: 
stand  and  omnibus  station.    The  hackney 


196  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

coaches,  \yith  their  more  or  less  farmyard, 
like  litter  of  occasional  hay,  and  smell  of 
variously  mixed  horse  manure,  are  yet  in 
more  permissible  harmony  with  the  place 
than  the  ordinary  populace  of  a  fashionable 
promenade  would  be,  with  its  cigars,  spit- 
ting, and  harlot-planned  fineries  ;  but  the 
omnibus  place  of  call  being  in  front  of  the 
door  of  the  tower,  renders  it  impossible  to 
stand  for  a  moment  near  it,  to  look  at  the 
sculptures  either  of  the  eastern  or  southern 
side ;  while  the  north  side  is  enclosed  with 
an  iron  railing,  and  usually  encumbered 
with  lumber  as  well ;  not  a  soul  in  Florence 
€ver  caring  now  for  sight  of  any  piece  of  its 
old  artists'  work ;  and  the  mass  of  strangers 
being  on  the  whole  intent  on  nothing  but 
getting  the  omnibus  to  go  by  steam ;  and  so 
seeing  the  cathedral  in  one  swift  circuit,  by 
glimpses  between  the  puffs  of  it. 

The  front  of  Notre  Dame  of  Paris  was 
similarly  turned  into  a  coach-office  when 
I  last  saw  it— 1872.  Within  fifty  yards  of 
me  as  I  write,  the  Oratory  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  is  used  for  a  tobacco-store,  and  in 

♦  See  Fors  Clavigera  in  that  year. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  19? 

fine,  over  all  Europe,  mere  Caliban  bestiality 
and  Satyric  ravage  jstaggering,  drunk  and 
desperate,  into  every  once  enchanted  cell 
where  the  prosperity  of  kingdoms  ruled  and 
the  miraculousness  of  beauty  was  shrined 
in  peace. 

Deluge  of  profanity,  drowning  dome  and 
tower  in  Stygian  pool  of  vilest  thought, — 
nothing  now  left  sacred,  in  the  places  where 
once — nothing  was  profane. 

For  that  is  indeed  the  teaching,  if  you 
could  receive  it,  of  the  Tower  of  Giotto ;  as- 
of  all  Christian  art  in  its  day.  Next  to  dec- 
laration of  the  facts  of  the  Gospel,  its  pur- 
pose, (often  in  actual  work  the  eagerest,)  was 
to  show  the  power  of  the  Gospel.  History 
of  Christ  in  due  place ;  yes,  history  of  all  Ha 
did,  and  how  he  died  :  but  then,  and  often, 
as  I  say,  with  more  animated  imagination^ 
the  showing  of  His  risen  presence  in  grant- 
ing the  harvests  and  guiding  the  labor  of 
the  year.  All  sun  and  rain,  and  length  or 
decline  of  days  received  from  His  hand  ;  all 
joy,  and  grief,  and  strength,  or  cessation  of 
labor,  indulged  or  endured,  as  in  His  sight 
and  to  His  glory.  And  the  familiar  employ- 
ments of  the  seasons,  the  homely  toils  of 


198         MORNiyGS  ly  FLORENCE, 

the  peasant,  the  lowliest  skills  cf  the  crafts- 
man, are  signed  always  on  the  stones  of  the 
•Church,  as  the  first  and  truest  condition  of 
•sacrifice  and  offering. 

Of  these  representations  of  human  art 
•under  heavenly  guidance,  the  series  of  bas- 
reliefs  which  stud  the  base  of  this  tower  of 
Giotto's  must  be  held  certainly  the  chief  in 
Europe.^  At  first  you  may  be  surprised  at 
the  smallness  of  their  scale  in  proportion  to 
their  masonry ;  but  this  smallness  of  scale 
enabled  the  master  workmen  of  the  tower 
to  execute  them  with  their  own  hands ;  and 
for  the  rest,  in  the  very  finest  architecture, 
the  decoration  of  most  precious  kind  is  usu- 
ally thought  of  as  a  jewel,  and  set  with 
^pace  round  it, — as  the  jewels  of  a  crown,  or 
he  clasp  of  a  girdle.  It  is  in  general  not 
possible  for  a  great  workman  to  carve,  him- 
self, a  greatly  conspicuous  series  of  orna- 
ment ;  nay,  even  his  energy  fails  him  in 
design,  when  the  bas-relief  extends  itself 
into  incrustation,  or  involves  the  treatment 

'  For  account  of  the  series  on  the  main  archivolt 
^f  St.  Mark's,  see  my  sketch  of  the  schools  of  Yene- 
tian  sculpture  in  third  forthcoming  number  of  '*  St. 
Clark's  Rest/' 


MOENINGS  IN  FLOBENCE.         19^ 

of  great  masses  of  stone.  If  his  own  doe& 
not,  the  spectator's  will.  It  would  be  the- 
work  of  a  long  summer's  day  to  examine 
the  over-loaded  sculptures  of  the  Certosa  of 
Pavia;  and  yet  in  the  tired  last  hour,  you 
would  be  empty-hearted.  Read  but  these- 
inlaid  jewels  of  Giotto's  once  with  patient 
following ;  and  your  hour's  study  will  givfr 
you  strength  for  all  your  life.  So  far  as  you 
can,  examine  them  of  course  on  the  spot ; 
but  to  know  them  thoroughly  you  must 
have  their  photographs :  the  subdued  color 
I  ^f  the  old  marble  fortunately  keeps  the  lights 
fubdued,  so  that  the  photograph  may  be 
made  more  tender  in  the  shadows  than  is 
usual  in  its  renderings  of  sculpture,  and 
there  are  few  pieces  of  art  which  may  now 
be  so  well  known  as  these,  in  quiet  homes 
far  away. 

We  begin  on  the  western  side.  There  are 
seven  sculptures  on  the  western,  southern, 
and  northern  sides :  six  on  the  eastern ; 
counting  the  Lamb  over  the  entrance  door 
of  the  tower,  which  divides  the  complete 
series  into  two  groups  of  eighteen  and  eight. 
Itself,  between  them,  being  the  introduction 
to  the  following  eight,  you  must  count  it  as 


SOO  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

the  first  of  the  terminal  group;  you  then 
have  the  whole  twenty-seven  sculptures 
divided  into  eighteen  and  nine. 

Thus  lettering  the  groups  on  each  side  foi 
West,  South,  East,  and  North,  we  have: 

W.        S.        E.         K 


7+7    +    6 

+   7    =  27;  or. 

W.        S.        E. 

7+7    +   4 

-=  18;  and. 

E. 

N. 

2 

+    7  =  9. 

There  is  a  very  special  reason  for  this 
division  by  nines ;  but,  for  convenience  sake, 
I  shall  number  the  whole  from  1  to  27, 
straightforwardly.  And  if  you  will  have 
patience  with  me,  I  should  like  to  go  round 
the  tower  once  and  again ;  first  obser\dng  the 
general  meaning  and  connection  of  the  sub- 
jects, and  then  going  back  to  examine  the 
technical  points  in  each,  and  such  minor 
specialties  as  it  may  be  well,  at  the  first  time, 
to  pass  over. 

1.  The  series  begins,  then,  on  the  west 
aide,  with  the  Creation  of  Man.  It  is  not 
(he  beginning  of  the  story  of  Genesis ;  but 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  201 

the  simple  assertion  that  God  made  us,  and 
breathed,  and  still  breathes,  into  our  nostrils 
the  breath  of  life. 

This  Giotto  tells  you  to  believe  as  the 
beginning  of  all  knowledge  and  all  power.  * 
This  he  tells  you  to  believe,  as  a  thing  which 
be  himself  knows. 

He  will  tell  you  nothing  but  what  he  does 
know. 

2.  Therefore,  though  Giovanna  Pisano 
and  his  fellow  sculptors  had  given,  literally, 
the  taking  of  the  rib  out  of  Adam's  side, 
Giotto  merely  gives  the  mythic  expression 
of  the  truth  he  knows, — "  they  two  shall  be 
one  flesh." 

3.  And  though  all  the  theologians  and 
poets  of  his  time  would  have  expected,  if 
not  demanded,  that  his  next  assertion,  after 
that  of  the  Creation  of  Man,  should  be  of 
the  Fall  of  Man,  he  asserts  nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  knows  nothing  of  what  man  was. 
What  he  is,  he  knows  best  of  living  men  at 
that  hour,  and  proceeds  to  say.  The  next 
sculpture  is  of  Eve  spinning  and  Adam  hevr* 

*  So  also  the  Master-builder  of  the  Ducal  Palace  of 
Venice.    See  Fors  Clavigera  for  June  of  this  year. 


202  MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE 

ing  the  ground  into  clods.  Not  digging; 
you  cannot,  usually,  dig  but  in  ground  al- 
ready dug.  The  native  earth  you  must 
hew. 

They  are  not  clothed  in  skins.  What 
would  have  been  the  use  of  Eve  spinning  if 
she  could  not  weave?  They  wear,  each, 
one  simple  piece  of  drapery,  Adam's  knotted 
behind  him.  Eve's  fastened  around  her  neck 
with  a  rude  brooch. 

Above  them  are  an  oak  and  an  apple-tree. 
Into  the  apple-tree  a  little  bear  is  trying  to 
climb. 

The  meaning  of  which  entire  myth  is,  as 
I  read  it,  that  men  and  women  must  both 
eat  their  bread  with  toil.  That  the  first 
duty  of  man  is  to  feed  his  family,  and  the 
first  duty  of  the  woman  to  clothe  it.  That  the 
trees  of  the  field  are  given  us  for  strength 
and  for  delight,  and  that  the  wild  beasts  of 
the  field  must  have  their  share  with  us.^ 

1  The  oak  and  apple  boughs  are  placed,  with  the 
same  meaning,  by  Sandro  Botticelli,  in  the  lap  of  Zip- 
porah.  The  figure  of  the  bear  is  again  represented 
by  Jacopo  della  Querela,  on  the  north  door  ef  the 
Cathedral  of  Florence.  I  am  not  sure  of  i^  conk' 
plete  meaning. 


MOENTN-GS  IN  FLORENCE.  203 

4.  The  fourth  sculpture,  forming  the 
center-piece  of  the  series'  on  the  west  side, 
is  nomad  pastoral  life. 

Jabal,  the  father  of  such  as  dwell  in  tents, 
and  of  such  as  have  cattle,  lifts  the  curtain 
of  his  tent  to  look  out  upon  his  flock.  His 
dog  watches  it. 

5.  Jubal,  the  father  of  all  such  as  handle 
the  harp  and  organ. 

That  is  to  say,  stringed  and  wind  instru- 
ments ; — the  lyre  and  reed.  The  first  arts 
(with  the  Jew  and  Greek)  of  the  shepherd 
David,  and  shepherd  Apollo. 

Giotto  has  given  him  the  long  level  trum- 
pet, afterwards  adopted  so  grandly  in  the 
sculptures  of  La  Robbia  and  Donatello.  It 
is,  I  think,  intended  to  be  of  wood,  as  now 
the  long  Swiss  horn,  and  a  long  and  shorter 
tube  are  bound  together. 

6.  Tubal  Cain,  the  instructor  of  every 
artificer  in  brass  and  iron. 

Giotto  represents  him  as  sitting,  full^ 
robed,  turning  a  wedge  of  bronze  on  the 
anvil  with  extreme  watchfulness. 

These  last  three  sculptures,  observe,  rep- 
resent the  life  of  the  race  of  Cain ;  of  those 
wlio  are  wanderers,  and  have   no  home. 


204         ^OBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

Nomad  pastoral  life;  Nomad  artistic  life^ 
Wandering  Willie;  yonder  organ  man, 
whom  you  want  to  send  the  policeman  after, 
and  the  gypsy  who  is  mending  the  old 
school-mistress's  kettle  on  the  grass,  which 
the  squire  has  wanted  so  long  to  take  into 
his  park  from  the  roadside. 

7.  Then  the  last  sculpture  of  the  seven 
begins  the  story  of  the  race  of  Seth,  and  of 
home  life.  The  father  of  it  lying  drunk 
under  his  trellised  vine;  such  the  general 
image  of  civilized  society,  in  the  abstract, 
thinks  Giotto. 

With  several  other  meanings,  universally 
known  to  the  Catholic  world  of  that  day, — ■ 
too  many  to  be  spoken  of  here. 

The  second  side  of  the  tower  represents, 
after  this  introduction,  the  sciences  and  arts 
of  civilized  or  home  life. 

8.  Astronomy.  In  nomad  life  you  may 
serve  yourself  of  the  guidance  of  the  stars  : 
but  to  know  the  laws  of  their  nomadic  life, 
your  own  must  be  fixed. 

The  astronomer,  with  his  sextant  revolv- 
ing on  a  fixed  pivot,  looks  up  to  the  vault 
of  the  heavens  and  beholds  their  zodiac; 
prescient  of  what  else  with  optic  glass  the 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  205 

Tuscan  artist  viewed,  at  evening,  from  the 
top  of  Fesole. 

Above  the  dome  of  heaven,  as  yet  unseen, 
are  the  Lord  of  the  worlds  and  His  angels. 
To-day,  the  Dawn  and  the  Daystar:  to- 
morrow,  the  Daystar  arising  in  the  heart. 

9.  Defensive  architecture.  The  building 
of  the  watch-tower.  The  beginning  of 
security  in  possession. 

10.  Pottery.  The  making  of  pot,  cup,  and 
platter.  The  first  civilized  furnitttre ;  the 
means  of  heating  liquid,  and  serving  drink 
and  meat  with  decency  and  economy. 

11.  Riding.  The  subduing  of  animals  to 
domestic  service. 

12.  Weaving.  The  making  of  clothes 
with  swiftness,  and  in  precision  of  structure, 
by  help  ot  the  loom. 

13.  Law,  revealed  as  directly  from  hea- 
ven. 

14.  Daedalus  (not  Icarus,  but  the  father 
trying  the  wings).  The  conquest  of  the  ele- 
ment of  air. 

As  the  seventh  subject  of  the  first  group 
introduced  the  arts  of  home  after  those  of 
the  savage  wandering,  this  seventh  of  the 
second   group  introduces   the  arts   of  the 


206  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

missionary,  or  civilized   and  gift-bringing 
wanderer. 

15.  The  Conquest  of  the  Sea.  The  helms- 
man, and  t\vo  rowers,  rowing  as  Venetians, 
face  to  bow. 

16.  The  Conquest  of  the  Earth.  Hercules 
victor  over  Antseus.  Beneficent  strength  of 
civilization  crushing  the  savageness  of  in- 
humanity. 

17.  Agriculture.    The  oxen  and  plow. 

18.  Trade.     The  cart  and  horses. 

19.  And  now  the  sculpture  over  the  door 
of  the  tower.  The  Lamb  of  God,  expresses 
the  Law  of  Sacrifice,  and  door  of  ascent  to 
lieaven.  And  then  follow  the  fraternal  arts 
^f  the  Christian  world. 

20.  Geometry.  Again  the  angle  sculpt- 
ure, introductory  to  the  following  series. 
We  shall  see  presently  why  this  science 
must  bo  the  foundation  of  the  rest. 

21.  Sculpture. 

22.  Painting. 

23.  Grammar. 

24.  Arithmetic.  The  laws  of  number^ 
weight,  and  measures  of  capacity. 

25.  Music.  The  laws  of  number,  weight 
(or  force),  and  measure,  applied  to  sound. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  207 

26.  Logic.  The  laws  of  number  and 
measure  applied  to  thought. 

27.  The  Invention  of  Harmony. 

You  see  now — by  taking  first  the  great 
division  of  pre-Christian  and  Christian  arts, 
marked  by  the  door  of  the  Tower;  and 
then  the  divisions  into  four  successive  his- 
torical periods,  marked  by  its  angles — that 
you  have  a  perfect  plan  of  human  civiliza- 
tion. The  first  side  is  of  the  nomad  life, 
learning  how  to  assert  its  supremacy  ovei- 
other  wandering  creatures,  herbs,  and  beasts, 
Then  the  second  side  is  the  fixed  home  life, 
developing  race  and  country;  then  the 
third  side,  the  kuman  intercourse  between , 
stranger  races ;  then  the  fourth  side,  the 
harmonious  arts  of  all  who  are  gathered 
into  the  fold  of  Christ. 

Now  let  us  return  to  the  first  angle,  and 
examine  piece  by  piece  with  care. 

1.   Creation  of  Han, 

Scarcely  disengaged  from  the  clods  of  the 
earth,  he  opens  his  eyes  to  the  face  of  Christ. 
Like  all  the  rest  of  £he  sculptures,  it  is  less 
the  representation  of  a  past  fact  than  of  a 
constant  one.  It  is  the  continual  state  of 
man,  *  of  the  earth,'  yet  seeing  God. 


208  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

Christ  holds  the  book  of  His  Law — ^tb6 
« Law  of  life ' — in  His  left  hand. 

The  trees  of  the  garden  above  are, — cen- 
tral above  Christ,  palm  (immortal  life) ; 
above  Adam,  oak  (human  life).  Pear,  and 
fig,  and  a  large-leaved  ground  fruit  (what  ?) 
complete  the  myth  of  the  Food  of  Life. 

As  decorative  sculpture,  these  trees  are 
especially  to  be  noticed,  with  those  in  the 
two  next  subjects,  and  the  Noah's  vine  as 
differing  in  treatment  from  Giotto's  foliage, 
of  which  perfect  examples  are  seen  in  16 
and  17.  Giotto's  branches  are  set  in  close 
sheaf-like  clusters;  and  every  mass  dis- 
posed with  extreme  formality  of  radiation. 
The  leaves  of  these  first,  on  the  contrary, 
Are  arranged  with  careful  concealment  of 
their  ornamental  system,  so  as  to  look  in- 
artificial. This  is  done  so  studiously  as 
to  become,  by  excess,  a  little  unnatural ! — 
Nature  herself  is  more  decorative  and  for- 
mal in  grouping.  But  the  occult  design  is 
very  noble,  and  every  leaf  modulated  with 
loving,  dignified,  exactly  right  and  sufficient 
finish;  not  done  to  show  skill,  nor  with 
mean  forgetfulness  of  main  subject,  but  in 
tender  completion  and  harmony  with  it. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE,  20* 

Look  at  the  subdivisions  ot  the  palm 
eaves  with  your  magnifying  glass.  The 
others  are  less  finished  in  this  than  in  the 
next  subject.  Man  himself  incomplete,  the 
leaves  that  are  created  with  him,  for  his 
life,  must  not  be  so. 

(Are  not  his  fingers  yet  short;  growing?) 

2.   Creation  of  Woman, 

Far,  in  its  essential  qualities,  the  tran- 
scendent sculpture  of  this  subject,  Ghiberti's 
is  only  a  dainty  elaboration  and  beautifica- 
tion  of  it,  losing  its  solemnity  and  simplicity 
in  a  flutter  of  feminine  grace.  The  older 
sculptor  thinks  of  the  Uses  of  Womanhood^ 
and  of  its  dangers  and  sins,  before  he  thinks 
of  its  beauty ;  but,  were  the  arm  not  lost, 
the  quiet  naturalness  of  this  head  and  breast 
of  Eve,  and  the  bending  grace  of  the  sub- 
missive rendering  of  soul  and  body  to  per- 
petual guidance  by  the  hand  of  Christ — 
(grasping  the  arm,  note,  for  full  support) 
— would  be  felt  to  be  far  beyond  Ghiberti's  in 
beauty,  as  in  mythic  truth. 

The  line  of  her  body  joins  with  that  of  the 
serpent-ivy  round  the  tree  trunk  above  her : 
a  double  myth — of  her  fall,  and  her  support 


210  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

afterwards  by  her  husband's  strength. 
"  Thy  desire  shall  be  to  thy  husband."  The 
fruit  of  the  tree — double-set  filbert,  telling 
nevertheless  the  happy  equality. 

The  leaves  in  this  piece  are  finished  with 
consummate  poetical  care  and  precision. 
Above  Adam,  laurel  (a  virtuous  woman  is  a 
crown  to  her  husband) ;  the  filbert  for  the 
two  together ;  the  fig,  for  fruitful  household 
joy  (under  thy  vine  and  fig-tree  ^ — but  vine 
properly  the  masculine  joy) ;  and  the  fruit 
taken  by  Christ  for  type  of  all  naturally 
growing  food,  in  his  own  hunger. 

Examine  with  lens  the  ribbing  of  these 
Jeaves,  and  the  insertion  on  their  stem  of 
the  three  laurel  leaves  on  extreme  right ; 
and  observe  that  in  all  cases  the  sculptor 
works  the  molding  with  his  own  part  of 
the  design ;  look  how  he  breaks  variously 
deeper  into  it,  beginning  from  the  foot  of 
Christ,  and  going  up  to  the  left  into  fuD 
depth  above  the  shoulder. 

3.  Original  labor. 

Much  poorer,  and  intentionally  so.  For 
the  myth  of  the  creation  of  humanity,  the 

1  Compare  Fors  Clavigera,  February,  1877. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  211 

sculptor  uses  his  best  strength,  and  shows 
supremely  the  grace  of  womanhood ;  but  in 
representing  the  first  peasant  state  of  life, 
makes  the  grace  of  woman  by  no  means  her 
conspicuous  quality.  She  even  walks  awk- 
wardly ;  some  feebleness  in  foreshortening 
the  foot  also  embarrassing  the  sculptor. 
He  knows  its  form  perfectly — but  its  per- 
spective, not  quite  yet. 

The  trees  stiff  and  stunted — they  also 
needing  culture.  Their  fruit  dropping  at 
present  only  into  beasts'  mouths. 

4.  Jahal, 

If  you  have  looked  long  enough,  and 
carefully  enough,  at  the  three  previous 
sculptures,  you  cannot  but  feel  that  the 
hand  here  is  utterly  changed.  The  drapery 
sweeps  in  broader,  softer,  but  less  true 
folds ;  the  handling  is  far  more  delicate ; 
txquisitely  sensitive  to  gradation  over  broad 
surfaces — scarcely  using  an  incision  of  any 
depth  but  in  outline;  studiously  reserved 
in  appliance  of  shadow,  as  a  thing  precious 
and  local — look  at  it  above  the  puppy's 
head,  and  under  the  tent.  This  is  assuredly 
painter's  work,  not  mere  sculptor's.    I  have 


212         MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

no  doubt  whatever  it  is  by  the  own  hand  of 
the  shepherd-boy  of  Fesole.  Cimabue  had 
found  hiiii  drawing,  (more  probably  scratch- 
ing with  Etrurian  point,)  one  of  his  sheep 
upon  a  stone.  These,  on  the  central  foun- 
dation-stone of  his  tower  he  engraves,  look- 
ing back  on  the  fields  of  life  :  the  time 
soon  near  for  him  to  draw  the  curtains  of 
his  tent. 

I  know  no  dog  like  this  in  method  of 
drawing,  and  in  skill  of  giving  the  living 
form  without  one  touch  of  chisel  for  hair, 
or  incision  for  eye,  except  the  dog  barking 
at  Poverty  in  the  great  fresco  of  Assisi. 

Take  the  lens  and  look  at  every  piece  of 
the  work  from  corner  to  corner — note  es» 
pecially  as  a  thing  which  would  only  have 
been  enjoyed  by  a  painter,  and  which  all 
great  painters  do  intensely  enjoy — the  fringe 
of  the  tent,^  and  precise  insertion  of  its 
point  in  the  angle  of  the  hexagon,  prepared 
for  by  the  archaic  masonry  indicated  in  the 

1  "  I  think  Jabal's  tent  is  made  of  leather  ,•  the 
relaxed  intervals  between  the  tent-pegs  show  a 
curved  ragged  edge  like  leather  near  the  ground'* 
fMr.  Caird).  The  edge  of  the  opening  is  still  mora 
characteristic,  I  think. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.         213 

oblique  joint  above ;  ^  architect  and  painter 
thinking  at  once,  and  doing  as  they  thought. 
I  gave  a  icjcture  to  the  Eton  boys  a  year 
or  two  ago,  on  little  more  than  the  shep- 
herd's dog,  which  is  yet  more  wonderful  in 
magnified  scale  of  photograph.  The  lecture 
is  partly  published — somewhere,  but  I  can't 
refer  to  it. 

5.  Jubal, 

Still  Giotto's,  though  a  little  less  delighted 
in ;  but  with  exquisite  introduction  of  the 
Gothic  of  his  own  tower.  See  the  light 
surface  sculpture  of  a  mosaic  design  in  the 
horizontal  molding. 

Note  also  the  painter's  freehand  working 
of  the  complex  moldings  of  the  taole — . 
also  resolvedly  oblong,  not  square;  see 
central  flower. 

6.  Tubal  Cain. 

Still  Giotto's,  and  entirely  exquisite  ;  fin- 
ished with  no  less  care  than  the  shepherd, 
to  mark  the  vitality  of  this  art  to  humanity  \ 

*  Prints  of  these  photographs  which  do  not  show 
the  masonry  all  round  the  hexagon  are  quite  value- 
less for  study. 


214  MORNiyOS  IN  FLORENCE. 

the  spade  and  hoe — its  heraldic  bearing- 
hung  on  the  hinged  door.^  For  subtlety  of. 
execution,  note  the  texture  of  wooden  block 
under  anvil,  and  of  its  iron  hoop. 

The  workman's  face  is  the  best  sermon  on 
the  dignity  of  labor  yet  spoken  by  thought- 
ful man.  Liberal  Parliaments  and  fraternal 
Reformers  have  nothing  essential  to  say 
more. 

7.  Ifoah. 

Andrea  Pisano's  again,  more  or  less  imita- 
tive of  Giotto's  work. 

8.  Astro7iomy. 

We  have  a  new  hand  here  altogether. 
The  hair  and  drapery  bad ;  the  face  expres- 
sive, but  blunt  in  cutting ;  the  small  upper 
heads,  necessarily  little  more  than  blocked 
out,  on  the  small  scale ;  but  not  suggestive 

1  Pointed  out  to  me  by  Mr.  Caird,  who  adds  farther, 
*'  I  saw  a  forge  identical  with  tliis  one  at  Pelago  the 
other  day, — the  anvil  resting  on  a  tree-stump  :  the 
same  fire,  bellows,  and  implements;  the  door  in  two 
parts,  the  upper  part  like  a  shutter,  and  used  for  the 
exposition  of  finished  work  as  a  sign  of  the  craft ;  and 
I  saw  upon  it  the  same  finished  work  of  the  sam# 
ihape  as  in  the  bas-relief — a  spade  and  a  Iu>e. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  215 

of  grace  in  completion:  the  minor  detail 
worked  with  great  mechanical  precision, 
but  little  feeling;  the  lion's  head,  with 
leaves  in  its  ears,  is  quite  ugly;  and  b;y 
comparing  the  work  of  the  small  cusped 
arch  at  the  bottom  with  Giotto's  soft  hand- 
ling of  the  moldings  of  his,  in  5,  you  may 
for  ever  know  common  mason's  work  from 
fine  Gothic.  The  zodiacal  signs  are  quite 
hard  and  common  in  the  method  of  bas-re- 
lief, but  quaint  enough  in  design:  Capri- 
corn, Aquarius,  and  Pisces,  on  the  broad 
heavenly  belt ;  Taurus  upside  down,  Gemini, 
and  Cancer,  on  the  small  globe. 

I  think  the  whole  a  restoration  of  the 
original  panel,  or  else  an  inferior  workman's 
rendering  of  Giotto's  design,  which  the  next 
piece  is,  with  less  question. 

"-^>  Building, 

Tiie  larger  figure,  I  am  disposed  finally  to 
think,  represents  civic  power,  as  in  Loren- 
zetti's  fresco  at  Siena.  The  extreme  rude- 
ness of  the  minor  figures  may  be  guarantee 
%,i  their  originality  ;  it  is  the  smoothness  oi 
ftiiass  and  hard  edge  work  that  make  lutf 
inspect  the  8th  for  a  restoration. 


216  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

10.  Pottery. 

Very  grand ;  with  much  pamter's  feeling, 
and  fine  moldings  again.  The  tiled  roof 
projecting  in  the  shadow  above,  protects  the 
first  Ceramicus-homCo  I  think  the  women 
are  meant  to  be  carrying  some  kind  of 
wicker  or  reed-bound  water-vessel.  The 
Potter's  servant  explains  to  them  the  ex- 
treme advantages  of  the  new  invention.  I 
can't  make  any  conjecture  about  the  author 
of  this  piece. 

11.  Riding. 

Again  Andrea  Pisano's,  it  seems  to  me. 
Compare  the  tossing  up  of  the  dress  behind 
the  shoulders,  in  3  and  2.  The  head  is 
grand,  having  nearly  an  Athenian  profile; 
the  loss  of  the  horse's  fore-leg  prevents  me 
from  rightly  judging  of  the  entire  action.  I 
must  leave  riders  to  say. 

12.  Weaving, 

Andrea's  again,  and  of  extreme  loveliness; 
the  stooping  face  of  the  woman  at  the  loom 
is  more  like  a  Leonardo  drawing  than  sculpt- 
ure. The  action  of  throwing  the  large 
shuttle,  and  all  the  structure  of  the  loom. 


MORyI^'GS  IN  FLORENCE.  'M 

and  Its  tlirejids,  distinguishing  rude  or 
smooth  surface,  are  quite  wonderful.  The 
figure  on  the  right  shows  the  use  and  grace 
of  finely  woven  tissue,  under  and  upper — 
that  over  the  bosom  so  delicate  that  the  line 
of  separation  from  the  flesh  of  the  neck  is 
unseen. 

If  you  hid  with  your  hand  the  carved 
masonry  at  the  bottom,  the  composition 
separates  it  olf  into  two  pieces,  one  disagree- 
ably rectangular.  The  still  more  severely 
rectangular  masonry  throws  out  by  contrast 
all  that  is  curved  and  rounded  in  the  loom 
and  unites  the  whple  composition ;  that  is 
its  aesthetic  function ;  its  historical  one  is 
to  show  that  weaving  is  queen's  work,  not 
peasant's :  for  this  is  palace  masonry. 

13.  The  Giving  of  Law, 

More  strictly,  of  the  Book  of  God's  Law : 
the  only  one  which  can  ultimately  be 
obeyed.^ 

^  Mr.  Caird  convinced  me  of  the  real  meaning  of 
this  sculpture.  I  had  taken  it  for  the  giving  of  a 
book,  writing  further  of  it  as  follows  : — 

All  books,  rightly  so  called,  are  Books  of  Law,  and 
ali  Scripture  is  given  by  inspiration  of  God.  (What 
we  now  mostly  call  a  book,  the  infinite  reduplication 


218  M0RNIXG8  IN  FLORENCE, 

The  authorship  of  this  is  very  embar^ 
rassing  to  me.  The  face  of  the  central 
figure  is  most  noble,  and  all  the  work  good, 
but  not  delicate ;  it  is  like  original  work  of 
the  master  whose  design  No.  8  might  be  a 
restoration. 

14.  Daedalus. 

Andrea  Pisano  again;  the  head  superb, 
founded  on  Greek  models,  feathers  of  wings 
brought  with  extreme  care;  but  with  no 
precision  of  arrangement  or  feeling.  How 
far  intentional  in  awkwardness,  I  cannot 

and  vibratory  echo  of  a  lie,  is  not  given  but  belched 
up  out  of  volcanic  clay  by  the  inspiration  of  the 
devil.)  On  the  Book-giver's  right  hand  the  students 
in  cell,  restrained  by  the  lifted  right  hand; 

"Silent,  you, — ^till  you  know";  then,  perhaps, 
you  also. 

On  the  left,  the  men  of  the  world,  kneeling,  r^ 
ceive  the  gift. 

Recommendable  seal,  this,  for  Mr.  Mudie  I 

Mr.  Caird  says  :  "The  book  is  written  law,  which 
Is  given  by  Justice  to  the  inferiors,  that  they  may 
know  the  laws  regulating  their  relations  to  their 
superiors — who  are  also  under  the  hand  of  law.  The 
vassal  is  protected  by  the  accessibility  of  formularized 
law.  The  superior  is  restrained  by  the  right  hand  <^ 
power.'* 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  219 

Buy;  but  note  the  good  mechanism  of  the 
whole  plan,  with  strong  standing  board  for 
the  feet. 

15.  Navigation, 

An  intensely  puzzling  one;  coarse  (per- 
haps unfinished)  in  work,  and  done  by  a 
man  who  could  not  row ;  the  plaited  bands 
used  for  rowlocks  being  pulled  the  wrong 
way.  Right,  had  the  rowers  been  rowing 
EngUsh-wise ;  but  the  water  at  the  boat's 
head  shows  its  motion  forwards,  the  way 
the  oarsmen  look.  I  cannot  make  out  the 
action  of  the  figure  at  the  stern ;  it  ought 
to  be  steering  with  the  stern  oar. 

The  water  seems  quite  unfinished.  Meant, 
1  suppose,  for  surface  and  section  of  sea, 
with  slimy  rock  at  the  bottom;  but  aE 
stupid  and  inefficient. 

16.  Hercules  and  Antoeus. 

The  Earth  power,  half  hidden  by  the 
earth,  its  hair  and  hand  becoming  roots,  the 
strength  of  its  life  passing  through  the 
ground  into  the  oak  tree.  With  Cercyon, 
but  first  named,  (Plato,  Laws^  Book  VII., 
796)v  Antaeus  is  the  master  of  contest  with- 


i20  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

out  use ; — 0iXom/ctas  &xfyfi<TTov — and  is  geneiv 
ally  the  power  of  pure  selfishness  and  its 
various  inflation  to  insolence  and  degrada* 
tion  to  cowardice ; — finding  its  strength 
only  in  fall  back  to  its  Earth, — be  is  the 
master,  in  a  word,  of  all  such  kind  of  per- 
sons as  have  been  writing  lately  about  thd 
"interests  of  England."  He  is,  therefore, 
the  Power  invoked  by  Dante  to  place  Virgil 
and  him  in  the  lowest  circle  of  Hell;— 
"Alcides  whilom  felt, — that  grapple,  strait* 
ened  sore,"  etc.  The  Antseus  in  the  sculpt* 
are  is  very  grand ;  but  the  authorship  puis- 
zles  me,  as  of  the  next  piece,  by  the  ^.\m& 
hand.    I  believe  both  Giotto's  design. 

17.  Plowing, 

The  sword  in  its  Christian  form.  Magnif- 
icent :  the  grandest  expression  of  the  power 
of  man  over  the  earth  and  its  strongest  creat- 
ures that  I  remember  in  early  sculpture, — 
(or,  for  that  matter  in  late).  It  is  the  sub- 
duing of  the  bull  which  the  sculptor  thinks 
most  of;  the  plow,  though  large,  is  of 
wood,  and  the  handle  slight.  But  the 
pawing  and  bellowing  laborer  he  has  boun4 
to  it  I — here  is  victory. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  221 

18.  The  Chariot, 

The  horse  also  subdued  to  draught- 
Achilles'  chariot  in  its  first,  and  to  be  its 
last,  simplicity.  The  face  has  probably 
been  grand — the  figure  is  so  still.  Andrea's, 
I  think,  by  the  flying  drapery. 

19.  The  Lamh^  with  the  symbol  of  Itesur* 
rection. 

Over  the  door  :  "I  am  the  door; — ^by  me, 
if  any  man  enter  in,"  etc.  Put  to  the  right 
of  the  tower,  you  see,  fearlessly,  for  the 
convenience  of  staircase  ascent ;  all  external 
symmetry  being  subject  with  the  great 
builders  to  interior  use;  and  then,  out  of 
the  rightly  ordained  infraction  of  formal 
law,  comes  perfect  beauty ;  and  when,  as 
here,  the  Spirit  of  Heaven  is  working  with 
the  designer,  bis  thoughts  are  suggested  in 
truer,  order,  by  the  concession  to  use.  After 
this  sculpture  comes  the  Christian  arts, — 
those  which  necessarily  imply  the  convic- 
tion of  immortality.  Astrcnomj^  without 
Christianity  only  reaches  as  far  as — "  Thou 
hast  made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels 
— and  put  all  things  under  His  feet "  : — 
Christianity  says  beyond  this, — "  Know  ye 


222  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE, 

not  that  we  shall  judge  angels  (as  also  the 
lower  creatures  shall  judge  us  !) "  *  The  se^ 
ries  of  sculptures  now  beginning,  show  the 
arts  which  can  only  be  accomplished  through 
belief  in  Christ. 

20.  Geometry. 

Not  "  mathematics : "  the(/  have  been  im- 
plied long  ago  in  astronomy  and  architect- 
ure; but  the  due  Measuring  of  the  Earth 
and  all  that  is  on  it.  Actually  done  only 
by  Christian  faith — first  inspiration  of  the 
great  Earth-measurers.  Your  Prince  Henry 
of  Spain,  your  Columbus,  your  Captain  Cook, 
(whose  tomb,  with  the  bright  artistic  in- 
vention and  religious  tenderness  which  are 
so  peculiarly  the  gifts  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  we  have  just  provided  a  fence  for, 
of  old  cannon  open-mouthed,  straight  up 
towards  Heaven — your  modern  method  of 
symbolizing  thf^  only  appeal  to  Heaven  of 
which  the  nineteenth  century  has  left  itself 

'  In  the  deep  sense  of  this  truth,  which  underlies 
all  the  bright  fantasy  and  humor  of  Mr.  Courthope's 
*'  Paradise  of  Birds,"  that  rhyme  of  the  ris6n  spirit 
of  Aristophanes  may  well  be  read  under  the  towe* 
of  Giotto,  besides  his  watch-dog  of  the  fold. 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  223 

capable — "  The  voice  of  thy  Brother's  blood 
crieth  to  me  " — your  outworn  cannon,  now 
silently  agape,  but  sonorous  in  the  ears  of 
angels  with  that  appeal ) — first  inspiration, 
I  say,  of  these ;  constant  inspiration  of  all 
who  set  true  landmarks  and  hold  to  them, 
knowing  their  measure ;  the  devil  interfer- 
ing, I  observe,  lately  in  his  own  way,  with 
the  Geometry  of  Yorkshire,  where  the  landed 
proprietors,^  when  the  neglected  ^alls  by 
the  roadside  tumble  down,  benevolently  re- 
pair the  same,  with  better  stonework,  out- 
side  always  of  the  fallen  heaps; — which, 
the  wall  being  thus,  built  on  what  was  the 
public  road,  absorb  themselves,  with  help 

'  I  mean  no  accusation  against  any  class ;  probably 
the  one  fielded  statesman  is  more  eager  for  his  little 
gain  of  fifty  yards  of  grass  than  the  square  for  hit 
bite  and  sup  out  of  the  gypsy's  part  of  the  roadside. 
But  it  is  notable  enough  to  the  passing  traveler,  to 
ftad  himself  shut  into  a  narrow  road  between  high 
stone  dykes  which  he  can  neither  see  over  nor  climb 
orer,  (I  always  deliberately  pitch  them  down  myself, 
"wherever  I  need  a  gap,)  instead  of  on  a  broad  road 
between  low  gray  walls  with  all  the  moor  beyond — 
and  the  power  of  leaping  over  when  he  chooses,  in 
innocent  trespass  for  herb,  or  view,  or  splinter  of 
gray  rock. 


224  MORNINGS  IN  FLOBENCE, 

of  moss  and  time,  into  the  heaving  swells 
of  the  rocky  field — and  behold,  gain  of  a 
couple  of  feet — along  so  much  of  the  road 
as  needs  repairing  operations. 

This,  then,  is  the  first  of  the  Christian 
sciences : — division  of  land  rightly,  and  the 
general  law  of  measuring  between  wisely- 
held  compass  points.  The  type  of  mensura- 
tion, circle  in  square,  on  his  desk,  I  use  for 
my  first  exercise  in  the  laws  of  Fesole. 

21.  Sculpture. 

The  first  piece  of  the  closing  series  on 
the  north  side  of  the  Campanile,  of  which 
some  general  points  must  be  first  noted, 
before  any  special  examination. 

The  two  initial  ones,  Sculpture  and  Paint- 
ing, are  by  tradition  the  only  ones  attribu- 
ted to  Giotto's  own  hand.  The  fifth,  Song, 
Is  known,  and  recognizable  in  its  magnifi- 
ceaace,  to  be  by  Luca  della  Robbia.  The 
remaining  four  are  all  of  Luca's  school, — 
later  work  therefore,  all  these  five,  than 
any  we  have  been  hitherto  examining,  en- 
tirely different  in  manner,  and  with  late 
flower-work  beneath  them  instead  of  our 
hitherto  severe  Gothic  arches.    And  it  b«» 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  22w 

comes  of  course  instantly  a  vital  question — 
Did  Giotto  die  leaving  the  series  incomplete^ 
only  its  subjects  chosen,  and  are  these  two 
bas-reliefs  of  Sculpture  and  Painting  among 
his  last  works  ?  or  was  the  series  ever  com- 
pleted, and  these  later  bas-reliefs  substitu- 
ted for  the  earlier  ones,  under  Luca's  influ- 
ence, by  way  of  conducting  the  whole  to  a 
grander  close,  and  making  their  order  more 
representative  of  Florentine  art  in  its  full- 
ness of  power? 

I  must  repeat,  once  more,  and  with  greater 
insistence  respecting  Scripture  than  Paint- 
ing, that  I  do  not  in  the  least  set  my- 
self up  for  a  critic  pf  authenticity, — ^but 
only  of  absolute  goodness.  My  readers  may 
trust  me  to  tell  them  what  is  well  done 
or  ill;  but  by  whom,  is  quite  a  separate 
question,  needing  for  any  certainty,  in  this 
school  of  much-associated  masters  and  pu- 
pils, extremest  attention  to  minute  partic- 
ulars not  at  all  bearing  on  my  objects  in 
teaching. 

Of  this  closing  group  of  sculptures,  then, 
all  I  can  tell  you  is  that  the  fifth  is  a  quite 
magnificent  piece  of  work,  and  recogniz- 
ably, to  my  extreme  conviction,  Luca  della 
15 


226  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

Robbia's;  that  tne  last,  Harmonia,  is  also 
fine  work;  that  those  attributed  to  Giotto 
are  fine  in  a  different  way, — and  the  other 
three  in  reality  the  poorest  pieces  in  the 
series,  though  done  with  much  more  ad- 
vanced sculptural  dexterity. 

But  I  am  chiefly  puzzled  by  the  two  at- 
tributed to  Giotto,  because  they  are  much 
coarser  than  those  which  seem  to  me  so 
plainly  his  on  the  west  side,  and  sHghtly 
different  in  workmanship — with  much  that 
is  common  to  both,  however,  in  the  casting 
of  drapery  and  mode  of  introduction  of  de- 
tails. The  difference  may  be  accounted  for 
partly  by  haste  or  failing  power,  partly  by 
the  artist's  less  deep  feeling  of  the  impor- 
tance of  these  merely  symbolic  figures,  as 
compared  with  those  of  the  Fathers  of  the 
Arts ;  but  it  is  very  notable  and  embarrass- 
ing notwithstanding,  complicated  as  it  is 
with  extreme  resemblance  in  other  particu- 
lars. 

You  cannot  compare  the  subjects  on  the 
tower  itself ;  but  of  my  series  of  photographs 
take  6  and  21,  and  put  them  side  by  side. 

I  need  not  dwell  on  the  conditions  of 
resemblance,  which  are  instantly  visible; 


MOBNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  221 

but  the  difference  in  the  treatment  of  the 
heads  Is  incomprehensible.  That  of  the 
Tubal  Cain  is  exquisitely  finished,  and  with 
a  painter's  touch;  every  lock  of  the  hair 
laid  with  studied  flow,  as  in  the  most  beau- 
tiful drawing.  In  the  "  Sculpture,"  it  is 
struck  out  with  ordinary  tricks  of  rapid 
sculptor  trade,  entirely  unfinished,  and  with 
offensively  frank  use  of  the  drill  hole  to 
give  picturesque  rustication  to  the  beard 

Next,  put  22  and  5  back  to  back  You 
g^ee  again  the  resemblance  in  the  earnest- 
ness of  both  figures,  in  the  unbroken  arcs- 
cf  their  backs,  in  the  breaking  of  the  octa- 
gon molding  by  the  pointed  angles ;  and 
here,  even  also  in  the  general  conception  of 
the  heads.  But  again,  in  the  one  of  Paint- 
ing, the  hair  is  struck  with  more  vulgar 
Indenting  and  drilling,  and  the  Gothic  of 
the  picture  frame  is  less  precise  in  touch 
and  later  in  style.  Observe,  however, — 
and  this  r  ny  perhaps  give  us  some  definite 
hint  for  clearing  the  question, — a  picture- 
frame  would  he  less  precise  in  making  and 
later  in  style,  properly,  than  cusped  arches 
to  be  put  under  the  feet  of  the  inventor  of 
all  musical  sound  by  breath  of  man.    And 


^2^  MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

if  you  will  now  compare  finally  the  eager 
tilting  of  the  workman's  seat  in  22  and  6, 
and  the  working  of  the  wood  in  the  paint- 
er's low  table  for  his  pots  of  color,  and  his 
three-legged  stool,  with  that  of  Tubal  Cain's 
anvil  block;  and  the  way  in  which  the 
lines  of  the  forge  and  upper  triptych  are  in 
each  composition  used  to  set  off  the  round- 
ing of  the  head,  I  believe  you  will  have  little 
hesitation  in  accepting  my  own  view  of  the 
matter — namely,  that  the  three  pieces  of 
the  Fathers  of  the  Arts  were  wrought  with 
Giotto's  extremest  care  for  the  most  pre- 
cious stones  of  his  tower ;  that  also,  being 
a  sculptor  and  painter,  he  did  the  other  two, 
but  with  quite  definite  and  willful  resolve 
that  they  should  be,  as  mere  symbols  of  his 
own  two  trades,  wholly  inferior  to  the 
other  subjects  of  the  patriarchs ;  that  he 
made  the  Sculpture  picturesque  and  bold  as 
you  see  it  is,  and  showed  all  a  sculptor's 
tricks  in  the  work  of  it ;  and  a  sculptor's 
Greek  subject,  Bacchus,  for  the  model  of 
it;  that  he  wrought  the  Painting,  as  the 
higher  art,  with  more  care,  still  keeping  it 
subordinate  to  the  primal  subjects,  but 
ihowed,  for  a  lesson  to  all  the  generation* 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE.  22» 

of  painters  for  evermore, — this  one  lesson^ 
like  hig  circle  of  pure  line,  containing  all 
others, — "  Your  soul  and  body  must  be  all 
in  every  touch." 

I  can't  resist  the  expression  of  a  little 
piece  of  personal  exultation,  in  noticing 
that  he  holds  his  pencil  as  I  do  myself :  no 
writing  master,  and  no  effort  (at  one  tim© 
very  steady  for  many  months),  having  ever 
cured  me  of  that  way  of  holding  both  pen 
and  pencil  between  my  fore  and  second  fin- 
ger ;  the  third  and  fourth  resting  the  backa 
of  them  on  my  paper. 

As  1  finally  arrange  these  notes  for  press, 
1  am  further  confirmed  m  my  opinion  by 
discovering  little  finishings  in  the  two  later 
pieces  which  I  was  not  before  aware  of,  I 
beg  the  m^asters  of  High  Art,  and  sublime 
generalization,  to  take  a  good  magnifying 
glass  to  the  "  Sculpture  "  and  look  at  the  way 
Giotto  has  cut  the  compasses,  the  edges  of 
the  chisels,  and  the  Jceyhole  of  the  lock  of  the 
toolbox. 

For  the  rest,  nothing  could  be  more  prob- 
able, in  the  confused  and  perpetually  false 
mass  of  Florentine  tradition,  than  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  memory  of  Giotto's  carviug 


t830  MORXINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 

bis  own  two  traaes  dnd  the  forgetfulness,  oi 
fjuite  as  likely  ig'  orance,  of  the  part  he  took 
with  Andrea  Pi^ano  in  the  initial  sculptures. 

1  now  take  up  the  series  of  subjects  at  the 
point  where  we  broke  otf,  to  trace  their  chain 
of  philosophy  to  its  close. 

To  Geometry,  which  gives  to  every  man 
his  possession  of  house  and  land,  succeed  21. 
Sculpture,  and  22,  ^  Miting,  the  adornments 
of  permanent  habimjion.  And  then,  the 
great  arts  of  education  in  a  Christian  home. 
First— 

23.  Grammarj  or  more  properly  Litera- 
ture altogether,  of  which  we  have  already 
seen  the  ancient  power  in  the  Spanish 
■Chapel  series ;  then, 

24.  Arithmetic,  central  here  as  also  in  the 
Spanish  Chapel,  for  the  same  reasons ;  here, 
more  impatiently  asserting,  with  both  hands, 
that  two,  on  the  right,  you  observe — and  two 
on  the  left — do  indeed  and  forever  make 
Four.  Keep  your  accounts,  you,  with  your 
book  of  double  entry,  on  that  principle  ;  and 
you  will  be  safe  in  this  world  and  the  next, 
la  your  steward's  office.    But  by  no  m^ans 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE,  231 

80,  if  you  ever  admit  the  usurer's  Gospel  of 
Arithmetic,  that  two  and  two  make  Five. 

You  see  by  the  rich  hem  of  his  robe  that 
the  asserter  of  this  economical  first  princi- 
ple is  a  man  well  to  do  in  the  world. 

25  Logic, 

The  art  of  Dembnstration.  Vulgarest  cA 
the  whole  series ;  far  too  expressive  of  the 
mode  in  which  argument  is  conducted  by 
those  who  are  not  masters  of  its  reins. 

26.  Song, 

The  essential  power  of  music  in  animal 
life.  Orpheus,  the  symbol  of  it  all,  the  inven. 
tor  properly  of  Music,  the  Law  of  Kindness, 
as  Daedalus  of  Music,  the  Law  of  Construc- 
tion. Hence  the  "  Orphic  life "  is  one  of 
ideal  mercy,  (vegetarian,) — Plato,  Laws^ 
Book  VI.,  782, — and  he  is  named  first  after 
Daedalus,  and  in  balance  to  him  as  head  of 
the  school  of  harmonists,  in  Book  III.,  677, 
(Steph.)  Look  for  the  two  singing  birds 
clapping  their  wings  in  the  tree  above  him : 
then  the  five  mystic  beasts,  — closest  to  his 
feet  the  irredeenmble  boar ;  then  lion  and 
bear,  tiger,  unicorn,  and  fiery  dragon  closest? 


232  MORNIXOti  IN  FLORENCE. 

to  his  head,  the  flames  of  its  mouth  mm- 
glmg  with  his  breath  as  he  sings.  The  au- 
dient  eagle,  alas !  has  lost  the  beak,  and  is 
only  recognizable  by  his  proud  holding  of 
himself;  the  duck,  sleepily  delighted  after 
muddy  dinner,  close  to  his  shoulder,  is  a 
true  conquest.  Hoopoe,  or  indefinite  bird  of 
crested  race,  behind ;  of  the  other  three  no 
clear  certainty.  The  leafage  throughout 
such  as  only  Luca  could  do,  and  the  whole 
OOnsummate  in  skill  and  understanding. 

27.  Harmony, 

Music  of  Song,  in  the  full  power  of  it- 
meaning  perfect  education  in  all  art  of  the 
Muses  and  of  civilized  life :  the  mystery  of  it? 
concord  is  taken  for  the  symbol  of  that  of  a 
perfect  state ;  one  day,  doubtless,  of  the  per- 
fect world.  So  prophesies  the  last  cornel 
Stone  of  the  Shepherd's  Tower. 


